Unravel The Girl
by DarKade
Summary: When Xander Harris is forced to walk a mile in someone else's shoes, the changes go way beyond gender. As he (she?) is forced to build a whole new life from scratch and find her peace with the world, will she find the strength to help another lost soul find hers? Fem!Xander fic. Faith/Fem!Xander. Xander/Willow
1. Prologue

Disclaimer

This is a work of fan fiction, produced for fun and not for profit. I do not own Buffy:The Vampire Slayer, Angel or any of the Buffy characters, quotes or plots taken from the show to make this bit of fun. I do not even own a house or a car. I do own cheese. So that's good.

**Preface**

I was amused to find a whole sub genre of Buffy fic devoted to gender flipping Xander. I think that walking a mile in a girls shoes may have made him a much better character, because Xan Man is pretty much the worst.

So, in my adventures in learning to write fanfic, I decided to tackle a few tropes and sub genres along the way. And here we all are. Yep.

Now after I discovered this sub-genre, I asked my friends which female actress they pictured playing Xander as I had trouble picturing it. Invariably everyone suggest Anna Kendrick, and I hafta agree. She would have nailed that role had she been the right age at the time.

Okay so before I weave my tale, I wanna state that I am rather well versed in queer theory, but Xander isn't. If he uses binary language that is on him as an uneducated teenage boy. He is gonna get a teachin'. But I myself know gender is a complicated affair and at the very least is on a spectrum- I am just inverting all the many sliders on the mixing board for our young scooby.

I didn't want to write a story focusing someone going through the pain and anguish of gender dysphoria, I wanted to write something about the sensation of someone who you had inside emerging from the past persona. So it IS a trans story, but it is really through a trans femme lens than trans masc. Characters represent different standpoints and along the way Xander is pulled through questions of masculinity, toxic masculinity, upbringing, social gender expression, sexuality and ultimately identity- something we all have to deal with. How Xander grows in this context is the heart. And I keep Xander's heart throughout. Because gender identidy is only one of the bedrocks of a person.

So sit back, grab some popcorn and a cup of what does you good and hopefully enjoy this tale. I am gonna take Harris on a bit of a journey of discovery, it's what he wanted after all, so do come along for the ride.

First stop?

**The Prologue**

(aka Route 666)

My road trip was supposed to help me find myself in this big crazy fish bowl that is life. You know the deal, one guy and his trusty steed blown any which way the wind of fate blows them, which usually means a series of adventures that shapes him as a man.

Obviously that turned out just swell.

I beg you to allow me to skip over the details of the mortifying series of humiliations that I endured upon said wind of fate. Let's just say I learned way more about bike mechanics and stripping for dollar bills than I had imagined. I also learned that whatever the hell it is that attracts demon women to me is still in full effect. So, yay. Oh, and side note? It is astounding just how many ways the good folk of the open road can steal your wallet.

But suffice to say, the road trip did not make a man out of Xander Leville Haris.

Uh, quite the opposite, actually.

* * *

The balancing of one's good and one's evil deeds is a real moral quandary that I shall, I promise, fret over in the not too distant future, but as I am currently sprinting from a gas station from which I stole supplies you must excuse me.

What is running through my mind right this second is along the lines of "oh god, oh god, please, please, please... I killed demons and helped Buffy save the world at least once… please don't let the clerk have a shotgun. Oh and stopping that whole bomb under the school thing. And don't say sex with Faith paid that karmic check because honestly the bomb was less scary. Please God let me make it to the tree line with my toilet paper, gator aid and… uh… women's pad things.

Did I mention all the vampires I dusted?"

I hear a gun shot crack behind me and give a good long curse to the heavens as I dive into the bushes. A warning shot, thankee, but I still nearly lost control of my remaining bodily functions and these cargo pants as filty enough as it is. Clearly my karmic bill won't cover all the gatorade, as I drop a bottle or two in my haste to not get peppered. Better thirsty than leaking through even more unwanted holes.

I make it to a safe distance before my heart stops, so all that table dancing for drunken middle aged women sure as heck paid off. My shelter for tonight is simple enough, a bridge on the way (I hope) to good old home sweet hellmouth. A little exposed for my liking, but folk of adventure, blown on the wind of fate are fortified against such trivial matters as privacy. I dump my ill gotten gains and collapse in a sweaty pile, gasping for air and grabbing my throbbing, painful boobs. forgive me for my French, but sacre blue, fuckez mez life or... whatever.

I get the whole bras thing now. I get sports bras doubly so. Running for your life with boobs? Yowzers.

Adventure? In a word? Sucks. I just wanna go home to where it's just demons trying to eat me only once in a while, were there is hot water and cable and pillows that don't crawl away and hot food and my friends...

...also, hopefully, said friends have a spell to turn me back into a guy.

* * *

For the last six days me and my sore boobs followed the freight tracks south west, hoping to catch an empty carriage. My romantic notion of ending the journey more like a Kerouac book than a play by Kafka. But that would require luck, which, like clean socks, is something I ran out of a long time ago.

The darkening sky starts to drizzle and spit as I limp my way up to the busy truck stop. Sunnydale has an airport and docks, so this highway sees a lot of freight. I find the bathrooms behind the diner aren't locked, so I wearily make my way in to clean up. A huge guy in red checked shirt looks up from the urinal as I enter.

"Lady, you're in the wrong place." He says in a voice like gravel's hick cousin, giving himself a shake. It takes me a moment to process.

"Right. Ladies, is… where I should be… as I am… yeah. Okay then. Have a nice… uh… that thing you are doing. Good job. Yessir"

As I approach the other door I feel the thick, thick layer of denial I wrapped about my situation crumble away. I know have haven't always tackled problems head on, or at all- I was always more of a pad my problems with humour and not deal kinda guy. But I guess this trip has changed me. Well, obviously it has. And I am afraid of what that obvious looks like.

I have been like this… my body has been like this, for three weeks give or take. Whatever curse or venom or vengeful spirit did this to me, it took a few days to happen. I thought I had flu at first, my whole body aching deep to the bones. But the discomfort grew into the severe owies, then onwards, head first into flaming agony. I felt I was being crushed and stretched, I swear my bones where creaking like trees, and the heat coming off me went way beyond fever.

When I came around it didn't take me long to figure out that it wasn't flu. I mean, I am not a doctor, and I don't even play one on TV, but it definitely was not flu. The vagina was my first clue.

But I didn't dare look in a mirror. I just couldn't. I caught a glimpse in my shaving mirror but batted it away so hard it broke.

Crossing the threshold into that forbidden zone that was 'the ladies' is a moment. Awkwardly clutching my bedroll and bag to my chest, I tentatively edge my boot across the line. I don't know what I was expecting. A thunderous omen that I had defiled some goddesses temple and thus was due her wrath, perhaps? Hell, you don't know, it could happen. You try living in Sunnydale and not have it shape your preconceptions of what is possible. I ate the school mascot when I was possessed as a hyena for the love of god.

Okay, one foot safe. Two feet good. I am standing in the ladies. Just a lady in the ladies. Doing, uh, lady stuff. Yep.

And here comes the new Xander theme song: Why is this happening to me?

I take a deep breath and instantly regret it. But the dramatic sigh still stands. I shuffle over to the row of surprisingly clean steel sinks and do what must be done. But first, I run a bowl of hot water and mix in some pump soap, and set about scrubbing my face and neck clean of the days of travel. I am bone tired, beaten down to my core. Tempered perhaps, all the battering has hardened me a little. Maybe the adventures are supposed to be like this, a long precession of humiliations and hurts that show you what metal you are made of.

Well Xander? What are you made of?

I wipe the steam from the mirror and see.


	2. Giles Will Know The Answer

Chapter 1

Giles Will Know The Answer

_(In which Giles does not, in fact, know the answer)_

Giles looked at me blankly when he opened the door, but then he often looks at me blankly.

"Can I help you miss?"

"Giles, it's me." I say, my voice still high and strange to me. I wince. "Obviously".

"I… yes, well, that's… nice for you, I suppose."

"Xander. I'm Xander." Thanks brain. Better way to start. "Xander Harris. I am back and… something strange happened to me... again, I say, obviously."

I find myself gesturing emphatically at my breasts. He blinks for a moment then politely glances away, taking off his glasses.

"Yes well, if you are who you claim to be, you will permit me to ask you some…"

"A mantis lady tried to eat me. An inca mummy girl tried to eat me. Angel is a vampire, he tried to eat me, basically I am on the menu for everyone and you… you get knocked out all the time. The last time was by that watcher lady who wasn't a watcher over the glove of miniguns or something. As far as I know. Help me now?"

The glasses went on. A good sign. He looks my face over, squinting at my eyes. I angle my face around, hoping to expedite the process. See? There's a likeness, I know it. You know it, now fix it already.

"My word, that is remarkable. Quite, well... fascinating, it's… well… "

"Giles please, trust me, this is weirder for me than you. You still have your… you know. "

"Well Xander, you'd better come in." He says, then pulls a face. "Uh, best head on up and take a hot shower first. I will heat you up something to eat."

"Giles, I would hug you but that would be a punishment for the both of us." I say and limp my way up the stairs.

Continuous hot water is something I have never had the luxury of at home, and I swear upon my dear sweet soul that I will never go without it again. It is like I can feel the months washing away from me in the steady hot stream, all the dust and dirt but all the bruises too. For a moment, as the water streams over me, drowning out the world, I could imagine stepping out the shower a man again.

But I was dimly aware of the flow of my body under the healing stream. The curves had not changed, nor the slender fingers that rub suds through my curls and work at my aching neck muscles. Nothing has changed. A stroke of my hand downwards confirms that.

I press my forehead against the glass and scrunch my eyes shut. I feel now like the water is carving around me, copying my strange, unfamiliar shape. I shut it out, and when I find I can't, I shut it off.

Tiny pink feet step into the grey soft rug. Long legs coated with fine dark hairs. A dark tangle of unkept… okay ignoring that… slender arms scratched up and blushed red. I pull a thorn loose from one of my cuts, and toss it in the sink.

It wasn't my face in the small double medicine cabinet mirror. She has sharper features than me, rounder cheeks and high cheekbones, plumper across the bones. The same black hair, softly curling down to my chin- I let it grow out on the road to blow in the breeze of the highway, all wind swept and interesting, an ironic twist how it suits the more feminine features.

Stepping back from the strange situation I could definitely say she is beautiful. Sharp nosed and doe eyed, graceful lips and pale face. I… no.. she cut her lip. Just a little, it will be healed soon enough. This whole situation may be healed soon enough.

It's weird. I feel like I am looking at another person. And wishing that person to no longer exist feels wrong.

I shake my head and close my eyes.

She is me. She will be me again soon. Giles is probably figuring it out right now. He is good with this stuff. He has books. Many, many books. Books is good.

I glance back at the sad, exhausted girl's face. She nods back at me.

"Yeeeaap." She says.

At least we agree on stuff.

Changes have happened since I went away. A lot of changes. Giles informs me that the girls are at university now and that they both live on campus. Willow's folks used the opportunity to move to New York, finally abandoning their daughter in reality- they had pretty much emotionally abandoned her decades ago.

The biggest change, I guess, is Oz is gone. A journey to discover how to defeat the wolf in him. Giles didn't give me the story. I didn't ask.

Oz and me? Well, not that we were ever super close, you know, but we were buds... before the whole fluke thing between me and Willow. Well, close is strange way to describe our friendship anyway or, I guess, former friendship, he didn't share much or talk much. But we had an easy understanding. He was a Scooby. And now… he isn't. And I feel his absence.

Willow does too I can tell. She looks empty. Her eyes are bagged and swollen from crying, and she takes the whole 'me being a girl' with a little more than a 'huh, that is weird' before greeting me with a rather awkward hug.

Our hugs have been different after the fluke too. But after being away so long, I thought she would be happier to see me. That stings. But I guess she hasn't seen me yet, not the real me. Maybe when I am back to Xan man she will warm back up. I hate to see her like this. I hate this distance between us too.

Willow dutifully accepts a pile of magical tomes from Giles and a cup of milky tea, then silently retires to the corner recliner by the fireplace, curling her bare feet up under her. She takes a sip of tea, then gently placing the cup and saucer beside her, she flips the first book open. She doesn't look up. Doesn't speak.

Willow is empty.

I busy myself with the important task of eating the chinese food Giles has reheated for me, bless his little tweed socks. I feel life returning to me, one shovelled fork full at a time. Giles tuts at my eating style, but I sense he sympathizes somewhat. This new body is all skin and bones. My mouth is smaller but I don't let that get in the way of my enjoyment, I just pretend the egg rolls have gotten bigger and that's all bonus for The Xan Man, baby.

The stranger at the door isn't Buffy. She is pretty, tall (taller than Willow, who opens the door to her), white skinned with long dirty blond hair and a long green dress. She smiles nervously at Willow.

"B…B..Buffy said she is just freshening up at her m.. moms. Said I should meet her here, is that okay Mr. Giles?"

"Of course, do come in. Tara, may I introduce Xander Harris. Xander, this is Miss Tara MacLay."

I stand, awkwardly aware that I am wearing nothing but a dressing gown with..

darn it… minor chinese food spillage down the front.

"Uh, charmed." I say, offering a hand to shake. I look at it for a moment in confusion. Should I shake? Do girls shake? Am I… of forget it… it doesn't matter, she has clasped my fingers and given it a little pump before awkwardly releasing it and stepping back.

"Welcome back… I hear you went on a road trip." She says.

"Yeah, one hell of a road trip. And how do you know…?" Tara dips her head down to hide her blush- a pointless gesture- her ears protrude from her hair are beet red.

"Buffy and Tara have psych class together. Oh and, I met Tara in the university wicca group. She's a generational witch, from a long line. Real powerful."

"N..not that powerful." She says, head dipping once more.

"Oh, so, she knows about all the…" I wiggle my finger around to indicate… well .. everything, really.

"She knows Buffy is the Slayer." Willow says flatly and heads back to her perch by the fire. Tara seems hurt by this, but dips her head again. I extend my hand again, more confident of the purpose this time.

"Welcome to the Scoobies, Tara." I say, warmly. "Good to have you aboard."

She smiles this time, a long lopsided beautiful smile that reaches her eyes. I revoke my previous judgement, Tara is gorgeous under all that shyness and hair. And she seems the super nice type, I can't figure what Willow' obvious problem is with her. Guess that goes on the pile of problems to pick at. But first things first.

"So… weird ice breaker I know, but, Tara? Know any spells to switch sex? Or switch back sex? It's a long story."

"Xander was a boy." Willow mutters, not looking up. She sips her tea and flips the page.


	3. Stuckage

Chapter 2

Stuckage

The moon is full as I lay on the grass patch that Giles' real estate agent hilariously called a lawn. The moths are going mad for the moon, zipping in circles and smashing into each other in their rush to get back where they began.

I sigh and dig my fingers into the cool, moist soil between the blades of grass. Stop this ride, somebody, I wanna get off now.

The kitchen light spills out through the door as Tara slips outside. She looks concerned and I take it in the steady stride that I somehow managed to set myself about this whole turn of events. They have been in there hours. I gaze back up at the moon and pat the turf next to me. The shy girl settles in.

"How you holding up?" She says.

"Oh, fine. It's nice here. Think I may just stay. Just have Giles, you know, cover me up with soil." I sigh. "Maybe a tree will grow from me. Think it will grow nuts?"

She smothers a chuckle with her hand, poor thing, she is trying her best. At least she came to check on me. She does seem nice.

"So I take it no luck with the spelly undooey?"

"I am sorry. It would help of we knew what caused it." She sighed. "This stuff is kinda complicated to figure out otherwise. I am sorry."

"Oh." I say and take in a deep breath. "Soooo Buffy here yet?"

"She called. Gringal demon." She said by way of explanation. "They sorta explode when you slay them." She says, wrinkling up her nose.

"I remember." I sigh. "Good times." A smile flutters briefly to her lips.

"Guess you are an old hand at this stuff?"

"A seasoned veteran. You can tell by my hardened, thousand yard stare." I say, two fingers jab towards my eyes then up and out towards the moon. "This too shall be yours, Tara. Oh yes. Have no fear." I look at her. "You sure you want this life?"

"Kinda goes with being… w...w..what I am." She says. A tuft of grass yanked up between her slender fingers. Slender and small, like mine. She is taller than me, bigger in all ways, I guess. I would dwarf her in my original form. "But I don't mind."

"So can I ask? Is Willow always that way with you?"

"She… well, she has a lot on her mind, I guess. I am not sure she… approves. Of m..me being part of, well… the group."

"Will's the best. We have been friends since forever. She is just going through some stuff. She will come around. Trust me. It's not you."

"Maybe." Tara smiles sadly and lays back. "It's funny," she says "when Buffy talked about you I was super tired and I must have misheard, I thought she was talking about her friend Sandra."

"Oh, the generous scoop of irony." I say.

"You don't look like a Sandra."

"Thanks Tara."

And we watch the moths do another lap of the moon.

* * *

Buffy's hair is damp from her shower and she can't stop laughing. And laughing. And… well… you get the idea. She barely crossed the threshold before being consumed by the fit. She apologises, somewhere in the howling, I think. Her legs have given way and her eyes are streaming and as much as I want to be angry at her, I can't quite manage it. Tara is kneeling next to the slumped Slayer supporting her convulsing body.

"Xandsagrrrrllaaaaah" she says and claps her weak hands together. "Xandsaweeegirrrrl-ammnmntawwwerthanher"

"She says your a girl." Tara translates helpfully. "And that she is taller than you." Wow. Tara speaks Buffy good.

"Sheeeesootiiiiiny" Buffy adds, snorting back tears. "Cannapattterr?"

"That's great, Buff. Way to be super supportive of your traumatised friend." I say with my weird assed voice. "And you may not pat me."

"Mmmmsssssssoooo...oh..oh..poorxaaaahahahaa"

"Just remember when I get whammied back that the natural order will once again place you wee-est of the wee."

It is some time before she stops.

Yeah, yeah, laugh it up fuzzball.

* * *

I snort myself awake with a mouthful of drool and black hair. Sunlight is streaking harshly through the curtains and it wants to kill me. This is how vampires feel, I am sure of it.

Okay, so I may have snuck some of Giles' scotch, and I may be paying for that right this moment, but it was medicinal, I swear. I don't remember when I passed out but it was at the table between the boring hopeless part involving books and the hopelessly boring part, also involving books. I am currently on the couch, with a pillow under my head and a blanket over my body. I take a peak.

"Everything still… er… as it were?" Giles voice comes from across the room. He is sat at the table sipping coffee.

"I swear I never thought I would be so disappointed to see breasts in all my life Giles." I groan and rub my stupid, teeny tiny face.

"Yes, well, I made you some breakfast. It should still be edible if you care to join me."

I do so, padding gracelessly over and slumping my best slump across from him. He is reading a newspaper, not a magical tome. He looks exhausted. The plate before me doesn't look too appealing. But my body wants what it wants. I pick up the least offensive morsel and take a bite.

Giles lowers his paper and gives me a look that says it all. I nod. Figures as much.

"Is there any hope at all?"

"Some." He says, a huge hand patting mine. "I left a message with a librarian I know who may have some leads on a certain journal of a…" he sighs and withdraws his hand. "Just… don't give up hope yet."

I nod. Giles is reading again. I can hear the clock ticking down the hall. Outside the birds are chirping like they do everyday. I finish chewing my mouthful and swallow. It isn't easy, but I get it down.

"Hey, Giles, I wanted to thank you." I mumble over a mouthful of bean soaked toast. He looks up from the paper with a quizzical look. I tug apart the toast with my stabby little fingers. My fingers. For the foreseeable future, I guess. "Look, I just… everything just has been so, so horrible and, well, I just... I just kept thinking, 'Giles will help'. 'Giles will help me', 'I just have to make it back to Gile's'."

He looks sadly at me.

I cough and quietly say "I don't, I mean, when something goes wrong in my life you are always here for me man. I noticed. Thank you."

Giles stern glare softens and he goes back to reading. "Plenty of coffee in the pot still Xander. And asprin in the med kit." He clears his throat and turns the page "For the hangover."

I grin sheepishly. Coffee and asprin does sound good.

* * *

I can't go home. It sinks in sometime around noon when I think about a change of clothes. I can't go home.

I can't explain this. Not to my folks. They don't know about magic or monsters or, well, let's face it, anything about me at all.

I can't go home.

And I am not sure if I want to laugh or cry. So I manage a god awful mix of both, you know, somewhere were Giles can't see me like this.

I can't go home and I own one pair of clothes. That don't fit. And are caked in and and blood and… well… blood… and I can't ever go home. Not until this spell or whatever is broken.

So I call Buffy.

"Mmmmelo" comes the voice.

"Buffy… I can't… I can't…"

"Mmmbuff it's for you." I hear the sound of the phone hit a pillow. A rustle and a groan.

"Hello?" Comes Buffy's unmistakable tired nasal voice, and a sound which I assume is her rubbing her face.

"I… I… can't…" I manage, the sobs taking apart my well prepared and thoroughly thought out sentence.

"Xander?" She says. "Jesus it's like 10 am."

"Can't go home. I can't... not like this. I can't go back." I manage, wiping back the snot. But in a manly, graceful way. "Got nothing...g...I can't".

"Oh." She says, soft and serious. "Oh. Hold on. Hold tight babe. I will be over. Just..."(a yawn) "just gimme a moment for my body to stop hating me okay?"

Buffy Summers. My hero.


	4. Does This Shade Compliment My Shame?

Chapter 3

Does This Shade Compliment My Shame?

Enter Buffy with a bag in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other, and my mood lifts greatly.

"Giles?" She said with a warm smile "Shoo." He looked up from his book, took in the scene and promptly does as he was told.

Look, I managed to clean myself up from my emotional flip out, but I still felt puffy to the max. And now the woman I wept to stood before me I felt the shame creeping to my cheeks. Buffy didn't say anything about my moment on the phone, which made me love my friend all the more. Instead she pushed a vente latte into my hand and proceeded to empty out of the bag on the table. I look at the offered clothing nervously.

"Just grabbed you a tracksuit and shirt." She held up a maroon shirt with golden letters arching across the chest. "Sunnydale High. Be careful with that, it' a collectors item- they don't make them anymore after somebody-who-shall-remain-anonymous blew the place up."

"The little scamp." I say, taking the shirt. It looks to be a good fit. "Her mother should be ashamed, raising such a neer-do-well."

"Or, instead of shame, she could always hand her daughter a large envelope of folding green stuff for which to rescue her dear friend with."

The envelope is pushed into my hands. I flounder like a fish at the contents A crimson puffy fish. That's me.

"This is… uh."

"Gonna barely cover the basics babe." Buffy winks and pats my shoulder. "She said if you need more she could always do with a hand at the gallery."

"Your mother…"

"A loving woman. Also a pain in my butt. But yeah, she loves you Xand. She wants you to be okay."

Then, as I release the first of my tears she steps foward, drawing me into a hug.

"Okay, so I swear I don't cry all the time, I…"

"Oh you have no idea of the power of hormones when they come into contact with commercials with adorable puppies yet. Come on, get it all out, we have serious shopping to do."

* * *

As I rifle through the clothing rack at the mall I have to wonder if laser eyes is a Slayer power after all.

"Buffy, can you stop? I can feel your eyes burning into the back of my head."

"My bad." She smirks, and slurps on her iced mocha innocently.

"I noticed you haven't stopped." I say. "And when did you become such a coffee sponge?"

"Oh come on, Xander, I can't, you are like totally adorable as a girl." She says, a little swing of her hips. "Come on. Let me?."

"Seriously, that's like your third cup of joe this morning."

"Study and late night patrols. No coffee makes for a grumpy Slayer. Come on Xander, pleeeaaaase. It will be fun."

"For the last time Buffy. I am not letting you dress me." I groan. "Allow me a shred or dignity here."

Buffy goes dead silent and I look over to her to guage her mood.

"See, that there." She says. "That's your problem."

"I don't have a problem. Besides the obvious."

"How is letting me pick out some nice clothes that make you look good and feel comfortable something undignified?"

"Because!" I growl "everything we look at is... is far too…"

"Too what?"

"Too… girly." Buffy's brows shoot up at this. Usually that would be the signal for me to protect my balls, but… well.

"And girly equates to undignified?" She says, slowly. See, still feeling the urge to cover my groin, but I settle with folding my arms and huffing at the floor. "I'm girly. I wear girly stuff. Should I be ashamed? Is that what you are saying?"

I feign looking at another rack as a way to back off and shield myself with dignity. But her words sink in a little as I fume. Do I think it's shameful to be a girl? Well, no. The strongest, most bravest person in my world is a girl. The girls in my life? Willow, Joyce, hell, even Cordelia I have to admit, are all strong and incredible in their own way. How could I think it shameful to be a woman?

And yet. There it is, sitting in my chest like a rock. I think of mocking male eyes, and bruises and fists, and a mouth full of toilet water as they jammed me in. A constant, and I mean constant barrage of emasculation had been raining down on me my entire life. I paused thumbing through the racks and took in a deep, long breath, and found myself letting fly a dark, bitter laugh.

It all seemed to pointless a fear. I knew true emasculation. What can mere words take away? Pointless and stupid and empty.

I was weaker now, sure, physically at least. Smaller in height. But was I really any different? I looked back down at the rack before me, and then back to my friend. The hero. The legend that stood before me (in a stylish yet affordable top and kitten heels).

"Buffy, I need your help." I say. I look around at the shop. "Can you please dress me, but… not for laughs, and not too feminine, it's not me, in here… I am not ready yet… it's gonna take a while to make the shift. Can you find me, I dunno, like a style that's somewhere in between?"

Buffy seems to understand, and she gives a little nod and a sweet, guileless smile.

"Okay, but one rule." She says. "The Hawaiian shirts are out. 'Kay?"

I sigh and nod, and with a deep breath, I take the offered hand.

* * *

The girl in the mirror wears a loose black top with blue flannel button down. Her jeans are black and it shows off her long, slender legs. The black boots upon her poor blistered feet have air insoles that are heaven after months on the road. She wears no makeup on her pale, nervous face, nor jewellery to accent her look. Her hair is freshly trimmed to just below her jaw, a soft dark wave that is shaved at the back.

Buffy stands behind the girl, and tugs the button down into place.

"Waddya think?" She says. Her hazel eyes meet mine in the mirror. Not a scrap of judgement on her face.

"I like her." I say.

"Yeah. Me too." Buffy says. "When she isn't being a dick."

"I dunno, look at that smirk. That' a face for sarcasm. Those lips are for quips. Gotta admit, the girl's a natural."

Buffy doesn't react, and I realise she is zoned out, staring at herself in the mirror.

"Buff?" I say and nudge her with the girl's shoulder.

"Sorry." she says. "Lot on my mind."

"Wanna get it off your chest? I know I have something I wanna get off mine. If you catch my drift."

She smiles, a touch sadly, and returns to perfecting the way the shirt sits on my bony assed shoulders.

"Not yet." she says. An uncertain shake of her head. A pat lands on my butt. "Come on Xan, we still have some of my former inheritance to spend."


	5. Hide And Go Seek

Chapter 4

Hide and Go Seek

Campus is abuzz with keen minds waiting to be honed into the future shaping, uh, things. And boy didn't I just highlight the reason I am not currently counted among their number. But I have my quiet, shady tree from which to observe and absorb the academic energy from a safe distance.

Willow seems, thankfully, much changed. She even managed as smile for me that seem genuine enough. That's my little trooper.

She has cut her hair shorter and it flicks up at the sides like a smile too. On her throat is a new choker, and she wears a crimson top low and tight. If I didn't know better, I would say someone has met someone. I stand and throw my arms open to her.

"Xander Harris well you look at you."

"Buffy's work." I shrug. "Thankfully, I was gonna go way out there with the whole leather hellcat look but she reigned me on back." A kiss was bestowed upon my cheek. It is so weird that she is taller than me now. The world seems warped and… well, I guess it is. Everything is relative, I suppose.

"Well, this works." She says, nodding her approval. I am not certain I should be happy to be positively appraised with someone of Willows… how do I put it..

creative take on clothing, but I take it nonetheless. To be honest it's just good to have her smiling and interacting again.

"Lunch is thatta way."

We grab sandwiches and sodas to go, and find a spot on an artificial rolling hill overlooking the main thoroughfare of the campus. For the first little while Willow recounts the events I have missed, casually skipping over her breakup with Oz. It seems pretty normal stuff. A nest of Vampires on campus, Buffy's roommate turned out to be a life sucking demon- you know, the usual.

The biggest revelation was that Buffy had had a one night stand with "some jerky jerk face" player called Parker. But she took it in her stride. After, that is, literally turning into a cave woman and knocking him cold.

I missed Sunnydale.

That was the first part. The second was more along the lines of me squirming out of talking about my trip. I gave her the basics, heavily edited in my favor, I confess. Sue me, I am insecure as all hell.

"So the moral of that story is strip poker is never a good idea among strangers as it separates your wallet from your person." I nod sagely. "Also, running naked down a Las Vegas street but for a pair of traffic cones is a strangely effective way to enter the job market as a male stripper. You will do well to heed my words."

I have Willow laughing again, consistently now. It's a bit like bumping a mower to life, you gotta keep the momentum up, but gosh darn it, I shall mow that lawny, uh, smile. She snorts her soda wrong and waves for me to stop. And here we are, Willow and me, two dorks just goofing off in grass on a sunny day.

Willow picks up on my expression change and hers sobers a little.

"Jessie should be here." I say.

Willow agrees and lays her head on my shoulder. I nuzzle in, smelling that distinct Willow smell. It calms me and makes me think of crayons and stolen Barbies, then kisses and guilt. I run my fingers through her soft hair absentmindedly.

"He'd have tried to sleep with you like a dozen times by now." She mutters, and I can't help but chuckle at what is, undoubtedly, the truth.

"Yeahp. That's our Jessie."

We fall into a somewhat comfortable silence as I pet her hair, the both of us watching the veritable zoo of students around us.

"Tara seems nice." I say. Willow seems quiet.

"She is." More silence. She stiffens in my arms a little. I am about to probe further when a familiar face appears in the bustle. My stomach flips as the girl spots us and clomps over, a tense expression on her face. She has lightened her hair since prom, and changed the style, but she is unmistakably Anya.

"Xander Harris." She says flatly, and I choke on thin air. "Have you seen him?"

Willow turns to look at me, and I am at a loss for words. But a minute shake of my head conveys my plea. Message received her eyes say.

"Uh, no, I haven't seen him for a while. He went on a road trip."

I see what you did there Rosenberg. Anya huffs and looks around frustratedly. She turns to me and glares.

"This is vexing. And you? Have you seen Xander Harris?"

"I am looking for him too." I say, chuckling at my own joke. Her eyes widen and she scowls at me like I drove over her puppy or something. It is at that stage I remember what her former trade was and do a huuuge mental back up. "Oh no, no, I just got back into town myself… he's my brother. Half, brother. Actually."

"He never mentioned a sister on our date, half or otherwise. We dated. The prom. Months ago. But I do see the familial resemblance now. Same beady little eyes and untrustworthy mouth. I hope you have better manners than him." She spins on her heels and storms of. "Asshole never called."

"Please Xander by The Goddess tell me you didn't get her pregnant."

"Absolutely certain of that." I say, and I watched the hurt vengeance demon continue on her search for the boy that did her wrong. My thoughts wander to an image of Faith for some reason, but I shake them away. I look down at the remains of our picnic.

I don't feel hungry anymore.

* * *

Joyce is with a customer when I arrive at the bright airy white space that is her gallery. I busy myself looking around at the art on display, glad that her tastes have moved away from tribal pieces. Especially those that animate the dead. I do warily eye a few sculptures, just to be sure.

Joyce wanders over with a smile and greets me. Much to my surprise, it only takes a second for her to click.

'Xander.' She says and accepts the flowers I had her. 'What is this?'

'A thank you. But I guess the gesture is a little off since I bought them with your money. I fear this may trigger an endless cycle of ever diminishing gift giving and regifting that could irreparably collapse the economy or rupture space time but… oh god I get an all new mouth and it still gets jammed in neutral." I groan. "Thank you."

"The thought is lovely Xander. But you didn't have to."

I shrug. Finally unable to say anything.

"So are you here about doing that work? Do you need more money?"

"Oh, gosh, no, Mrs. Summers, this was just for the thank you."

"So, if I may ask, what do you plan to do? Mr. Giles told me that they… uh."

"One way trip, at least until new information comes to light. It's okay, I am dealing. It's not as hard as I thought. But then, I try to think as little about it as possible. And not thinking? Something I am starting to get the picture that I am good at."

"The offer is still open if you need work."

"Thank you. But, I gotta go run some errands. I really just wanted to show my appreciation for what you have done for me."

Joyce shifts a little awkwardly. Uh oh.

"Xander, do you know a boy called Riley?"

I shake my head.

"I don't mean to pry into Buffy's life, but you know she and I fell out over her dating Angel… I don't want to make the same mistakes again, you understand. It's just… she won't talk about her boyfriend, and I just want to know…"

"If he bites." I say. Joyce nods and looks about the gallery.

"I honestly haven't met him, and she hasn't said anything to me about him either. But Buffy? Well, her taste in men sucks, in my opinion. Literally, let's be honest. But Mrs. S, it's her life to make mistakes in, you can't protect her from that. She's a smart cookie. Trust her on this one, She's probably just worried you will react…"

"Exactly like this?" She rolls her eyes and nods. "I need to let go, don't I?" A chuckle. "When did you get all wise?"

"Oh, I think I got me a long road to get to wise."

* * *

That night I lay upon on Gile's couch listening to him playing some vinyl records from his youth. He sits nursing a glass of scotch, head tilted to the side, his mind travelling over memories like the needle in the groove.

I feel myself floating in disjointed images as I start to drift off. I can almost hear the rumble thump of the tumble dryer as it lulled Xander Harris to sleep in his basement.

I don't know who I am anymore, or who I am to become. But I know this.

I know… I know that I...

want…

want to be…

Better.


	6. Will Power

Chapter 5

Will Power

Willow is the kind of person one should be very, very grateful that they had a moral compass the size of Nebraska. Witchcraft aside, the things she can do with computers is frankly terrifying.

Of course it also helps that said moral compass spins entirely free of any obligation to the laws of man, so when I asked her if it is possible to fake some ID she turned to look at me like I was insane.

"Why fake it when you can just hack the government systems and get the real stuff made for you?" She turned her attention back to the TV. "Just gimme a name. Plus anything else you wanna screw with. Age, birth place, sporting achievements, medical history… launch codes." she waves a stern finger "I won't do grades though, so don't even ask."

"Obviously. Some things should be sacred." I say.

"You're Darn tootin' mister." She furrows her brow. "Though, maybe we should go with 'miss' though. I mean that's kind of the whole point." I sigh and stuff my mouth full of popcorn. On her little screen Ferris Bueller sings into his shower nozzle and breaks the fourth wall. He winks at me.

Willow's dorm is a double, but Sunnydale being Sunnydale the mortality rate has kept the second bed empty. Half the room is, in fact, neat and completely untouched by Willow's possessions. Another invisible line she will not cross (insert resolve face here). This side of the line is a landslide of two conflicting part of Wills that haven't meshed fully yet. Homework neat and filed, school books tagged and organized by day, wall planners timed to the minute, and oh so many highlighters. And then the witchy part, which seems to thrive on a tumbling rumblin chaos. Strange bowls with stranger contents, jars of 'huh?' and 'wah?' and often 'ick' and 'no,no,no,no'. She keeps rat eyeballs in the little bar fridge next to her the Mountain Dew.

Like I say, be grateful she is of the good. Well, good-ish.

It has been nice rebonding with Willow these past three days, but something is still off about it all, and it feels like it goes beyond mourning the absence of Oz. Even with the honking great dollop of good old fashioned Jewish guilt she piles on top of her plate, it doesn't really explain it to my satisfaction. It feels like the magnets are not just weak with our little wicca, they are flipped over. It occurs to me I haven't seen her and Buffy within the same space in all that time.

"So with her room mate from hell back in said hell, why didn't you hack the dorm roster and move in with Buffy?"

"Offered. She didn't want to. She wants the room to herself."

"oh." I said. oh, indeed.

"So, Buffy patrolling tonight? Been a while since I let the undead taste my mighty wrath."

"Maybe." She says, rather blankly. "She's probably studying with Tara."

The way she lingers on the new Scoobies' name hits a familiar note with me, and I find myself lingering on memories that verge very into the uncomfortable. I draw my knees up to my chin and fold my arms around myself. I think of wild brown eyes and a lip stick smirk that makes my stomach flip and ache. Willow's green eyes following Buffy and Faith, arm in arm, as they head out of The Bronze to cause some mayhem. Will's little monster was green too.

Tara is a witch. Not just a witch, but born witch with a line stretching back into the primordial. I glance around the room with fresh eyes and this time I don't see the chaos, I see a mind hell bent on improving her witchcraft. Books flung open with ingredients spilled here and there, bookmarks and notes hurriedly written, not highlighted and filed. My friend seemed numb to me, but when I look back at her, her eyes are glazed over, twitching now and again, she isn't watching the movie but mulling over something complicated in her mind.

Buffy has a shiny new best friend again, a new witch. I don't understand Buffy sometimes. Nobody could replace Willow for me. She needs… hmmm.

A name. This is gonna be hard.

"Wills, do I look like a Sandra to you?"

"Definitely not." She says, and pops a ball of popcorn in her mouth.

* * *

Giles greets me in his hallway. Glasses are off. Cheeks a little flushed. He is rubbing the back of his neck. Uh oh. This is bad.

"What did I do? I can undo it." I say, instinctively, then wince. "Or perhaps clean it up. No, seriously what?"

"Uh, this is rather awkward." He says. My eyes shoot to the couch and my former burger shoots to the very pit of my stomach and braces itself.

"You want me to go." I sigh.

"Well, yes." He says, then stammers "no, no, I mean… it's just… well, I want you to know that you are absolutely welcome here."

I see what Buffy means about 'but face'.

"But?"

"But… this is rather delicate, uh, I have an old friend visiting from England tonight, and for the next week or so. Depending on… uh."

I blink. Clickity clicksville.

"Oh… a "friend" friend." I throw in air quotes for no added cost.

"Er, yes… quite."

"Oh… uh… okay." I can't help but grin. "You sly dog you."

"I am sorry for the late notice, but she, well, shared her feelings about the nature of the trip and…"

"Surprise booty call, say no more. Strange young… girl sleeping on your couch not the image you are going for."

"Quite. I took the liberty of booking you into the motel though. I hope you don't mind."

"Giles, it's cool man. Bro code and all, still stands. I think. Gimme a minute to grab my stuff and… well... have a great night.

* * *

It hits me as I rock up to the motel. Denial girl… uh… guy, that's me, remember. Well, it hits me just as my eyes fall on that greasy yellow motel sign.

THE motel. HER motel.

It hasn't changed since last I was here. Still proudly rocking it's two star rating.

This is just great.

The middle aged woman behind the counter is stern faced. She gives me serious shifty eye which I deflect with my cheesiest awkward grin. She hands me the keys and mutters that "my gentleman friend paid in advance". I bid her goodnight and make my way out into cool night air.

No.

No way.

Of all the rooms. This place has so many, why? How?

I hover by the door, squeezing my lungs and the key fob so hard they hurt. But my curiosity is nothing but perverse. So, for some reason, I find myself unlocking the door and letting it swing wide.

It's more or less the same. Cleaner by far than when Faith lived here. All the broken chairs replaced and punch holes in the walls plastered over. But the bed looks the same. A flash of a smile and the press of warm, soft flesh against my chest, the pain of her holding my wrists down… and then… another time altogether.

I have forgotten to breathe again. I feel like I am choking.

"I need another room." I say, slamming the key fob down with shakey hands. Small hands, weaker hands. Fragile looking hands. Hands that I don't even know how to punch with. "Please."

"What's wrong with the room?"

"Nothing. It's great. Just… please, anything you got that is other."

"Honey, I gave you the biggest room we had because you staying so long."

"Smaller is fine. Please."

I dunno why, but it felt like I had to tell her, or at least get it our of my throat.

"I lost my virginity there." I say far too loudly, and wince at her expression. "It wasn't…" I take a deep breath and whisper "it wasn't an experience I want to remember."

Her demeanor changes completely. She presses a new key into my hands with a sympathetic pat. Her voice comes soothing and low.

"This ones on the top floor, far side. It's real pokey, but we will change you up as soon as a bigger one becomes free." My face is blazing hot as I mumble my gratitude and make for the door.

"Oh and honey? Damn vending machine is on the fritz something fierce. Anyone can just thump it and candy drops right on out."

She turns away and goes back to watching the TV.

The hot water doesn't last for long, but I didn't care. I know some things don't wash out.


	7. The Little Choo Choo That Can

Chapter 6

The Little Choo Choo That Can

(Maybe. Kinda. Sorta.)

The Bronze hasn't changed at all, which is kinda comforting. Except it feels bigger. Everything feels bigger to me now. The fact it is the middle of the day and The Bronze is empty and silent is only making it feel bigger, adding to my incredible shrinking woman vibe.

"Okay Alexandra, here are your documents back." The manager says, she places each one down in front of me, one by one. I gather them up in a sweep and stuff them into my satchel, incase she changes her mind and wants to check their authenticity. Again.

Willow came through.

"They good?" I say, nervously. "I mean, words, are they all good? All go through okay?"

The woman tips her black rimmed glasses down her nose and gives me another once over. I guess she is in her forties, but has a rather ageless complexion with light caramel skin (Buffy has me reading about such things as complexions now) so it is kinda hard to tell. She seems unconcerned by the grey working its way through the spray of tight black curls about her head. Spray of curls? Listen to me… I need to cut back on Buffy magazines.

"So, Alexandra is it?"

"Uh… yes. Still. It is. My name. That, is mine."

"I mean, sounds rather formal."

"Oh, my friends call be Xander. Dra. Xandra."

"Nope. No. No good, we have a Sandra of staff. Gonna be messy. Is Alex okay or Lexi or something like that?" She waves a hand dismissively.

"Alex is… fine."

"Alex with an 'E' or some weird assed Californian spelling?"

"Five Qs and a B." I say, but get no response. "E is fine."

"Well then Alex with an E. Let's keep things clear. No screwing the staff. No screwing the bouncers and absolutely no screwing my dear ex husband Kent, who, thanks to a rather shit divorce lawyer, happens to still co own this fine establishment with me. Believe me, the latter is for your own good but honestly girl if you do screw him, I will be forced to fire you for sheer incompetence and utter lack of self respect. No free drinks to friends, 10 percent staff discount and, I can't believe I have to say this, but here we are… If I find you engaging in any unlawful organ trading from this establishment it is firing on the spot. Don't ask."

"So lawful organ trading is okay?"

"Welcome to the team Alex. We are all a big family here, so… I am sure we will all thoroughly dislike-yet-tolerate each other in no time. The benefit of this family is we don't have to endure Thanksgiving. Hallelujah."

"Thanks Maggie." I sigh with relief. "I won't let you down." She taps together some paperwork on the bar and rises.

"Alex, my dear girl, you have no idea how low my bar of disappointment is set, but I appreciate the effort. Best go put something cool yet slutty on, you start in four hours."

And with that bombshell dropped, Maggie Mott, co-owner of The Bronze and my shiny new employer, (heaven help us both), left me to silently scream.

* * *

**_Bang, Bang, Bang_**.

It is… oooooh, 'remind me to buy a clock' o'clock and my motel room is close to pitch black. I was dreaming, I think, but whatever or wherever I was eludes me.

My heart is hammering and I swear I- heard-

There is a knock at the door. Hesitant, but definitely not imagined.

Shit.

I am still partially clothed where I fell exhausted, and my face is matted with what I hope is my own spittle, so hastily arrange myself to… I dunno… some level of decency. Honestly, I am not that concerned by how I look, rather if the wooden cross I scramble for will work on whatever is behind the door.

It knocks again.

"Xander? Xan? Uh… Xandra? Shit." I hear Buffy's voice, but, well, that doesn't calm my fear. Fool me once or, yunno, twice. I open the door cautiously to find a pale faced Slayer, slumped against the railing. She is bleeding heavily from the arm.

"M'gonna…" she manages, before her eyes roll back and she slumps across the threshold, into my arms. I manage more of a cushioning role than a catch, but either way, I guide her down to the ground and kick the door shut.

"Oh Buff, what have they done to you?"

Under the blood, her body has already started to heal, which is not always a good thing, so I hurry to assess the damage. Buffy's shoulder is dislocated, and judging by all the glass imbedded in her, I would say she seems to have opened a window that doesn't usually open.

As useless as they all make me feel, field dressing is something I can do. Of course I have a well stocked med kit. It's a Scooby 101 kind a deal.

As I make swift work of her wounds, I realise that my short, fine fingers are making the work go much quicker. Huh.

"Xan" she mumbles breathily as her Slayer healing kicks her back into the land of the living. "Shoulder… hurts."

"Gonna hurt worse. Gotta pop you again." I lever her arm into position "Ready for the old one-two-three?"

"You never go on threeaaaaaahhhhhhson of a bitchin' bitch."

"Hey, I went on three that time." Buffy punches her bloodied fist onto the floor a few times as she rides out the pain.

"Well, there goes Gile's bond." I sigh, and pull her onto my lap. She curls up, groaning, and I brush her hair back into some semblance of human.

"Ooo, how was your first day at the job?" She mumbles from somewhere near my knee. I laugh. Suddenly, the gruelling hours behind the bar of The Bronze seem trivial to me now.

Buffy's job is way, way worse.


	8. The Pointed End

Chapter 7

The Pointed End

Buffy enters The Bronze with her business face on. I know that Big Carl waved her in without making her queue because Big Carl has waved her in every single night since he witnessed her at The Harvest. She catches my eye and I tip my head towards the offending customer.

She nods and makes her way steadily through the throng of dancers until she is face to face the vampire. A lusty smile and shake of her hips, and she has his complete attention. Her hand trails down his smug face, settling on his sternum and she gently dances him back to a dark corner.

I have her mocktail ready as she reaches the bar, dusting her hands. An extra cherry on a stick.

"And that's the problem with men." She sighs, taking a seat at the bar "Ya just get all worked up and poof! all done."

"I should be offended on behalf of my entire sex, but… I mean fair call." I say, busying myself with an order. "Anya did inform me once that men are, in fact, the worst."

"What ever happened to her? Did she stay skedaddled".

"Shes back in town. I think she goes to Sunny U with you. I saw her the other day on campus."

"Speaking of back, remember Harmony Kendall?"

"Ah my second least favorite of the Cordettes." I reminisce. _Hold the phone_. "Back? Harmony died at graduation."

"Yeah well, she is officially now your type."

"Remind me which of the two of us dated a vampire here?"

"Okay, fair. Our type, then. But the heads up stands, demon magnet."

She smirks victoriously. I let it slide. Honestly I am picturing Harmony trying to seduce a meal and all I can think is thinning out the population of the dumbest, most desperate jocks in Sunnyd borders on a mercy killing. Call me bitter if you must.

"Wait, a sec." Buffy says. "what team do you even play for now?"

"Huh?"

"I mean are you gay now?" she spells it out, slower.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Huh.

So I find myself coming back into focus a moment or two later. I am frozen to the spot, head tilted like a dog trying to figure out algebra.

Buffy is leaning lazily on one hand, looking rather amused at me as she scrapes a cherry off a cocktail stick. A brow is up.

"I, I am straight." I say, putting down the glass carefully so I don't drop it. Buffy's other brow goes up. She keeps looking at me the same way. "Straight straight."

"Do you mean straight straight as in a straight girl or, straight straight as in a straight guy?"

I am nodding in circles.

"Okay, reboot Xan. Do you like boys or girls?"

"Girls." I say quickly. "Of course."

"Why of course? I mean, you got flipped pretty hard there Xan. Maybe all your sexy brain wiring got all flipped too? I don't know." (Sip)

"Please, this is my workplace, Buff. Can we please leave my sexy wiring for other conversations, hi hello what can I getcha?"

The customer is a tall, buff guy with a serious Ken doll vibe, right down to the haircut. He orders a diet soda and focuses his attention on Buffy, who after side eyeing him, suddenly lights up with recognition.

"Oh, hey. Riley, right?"

"Yeah. Riley Finn. Maggie Walsh's class? I saw you from over there and, thought I recognised you. From the class."

I roll my eyes and give the guy his soda. He doesn't look up, just keeps chatting awkwardly to Buffy, so I take his bill and tip myself the change. One look at Buffy's body language and I can tell hands down that she is definitely neither dating or interested in the guy. Joyce got her info wires crossed somewhere.

Wires. I sigh and turn my attention to uncapping a fresh vodka and fitting a pourer. I know I should probably offer Buffy an out from the situation, but she has skillfully turned the conversation to psychology and, my god, the words are long and some of them are in German so I just back off and look busy.

Which throws me face-first back into Buffy's question. I realise it is hard for me to answer because I am juggling three things. First, the whole straight thing implies my own gender. Boys for girls. Girls for boys. Simple and straightforward, right? I skid to a halt on this one because I… have to admit I am rather confused on the matter, and that alone is one scary can of worms to pry open. Or a box of demon spiders. Take your pick.

If I were like... Ghost Xander, driving a girl's meat puppet around, then that would be a simple answer. Ghost boy is a boy, regardless of puppet. But it feels way more complicated than that. Buffy was right. Whatever the curse or spell (or whatever) did to me, it was physical. It affected my brain, and I my hormones or whatever. Everything is different now.

I am strangely, well, I wouldn't say comfortable, but… I mean, it doesn't feel so strange being this way. I should feel, like, I don't know the word for it. Super weird and icked out. But…

I rub my fingers through my hair and let out a puff of air.

Okay, skipping part one for now, being "what's my gender", do I still like girls? I know I hastily answered Buffy but, suppose... just suppose I let open said box of demon spiders, I hafta ponder question two.

I always liked girls. A lot. I noticed them early and often. My hormones kicked me into hyperspace the first chance they got and each sexy girl who passed me just kept on kicking me back up there. It was a constant, aching need. Completely consuming and distracting.

I realise I haven't felt, you know, sexy thoughts since… well, midway through the crazy flaming wreckage of my road trip. I certainly haven't let my hand wander like it used to... for, confusion reasons sure but I just haven't felt like it.

_Flipped you real hard_, Buffy had said.

So I look at this Riley guy. Chiselled? yep. Handsome? Undoubtedly. Faith would have called him a "real beef stick", and yeah, well that just sits ill at ease in my gut. I think about him looming over me, hands gently holding my small shoulders as he leans in and tenderly presses his…

"Nope." I shake the image out of my skull as best I can. "Nope. Noooo. No."

_Well, perhaps you just ain't into this one guy_, a treacherous little voice inside my head says. I pour myself a shot and wash my own mouth out.

Buffy had shaken off Mr. Plastic by closing time, and had made her score two for two on the dusting front, suddenly and blatantly ramming home Mr. Pointy into the back of a flame haired girl she passed without breaking a stride.

"Don't do drugs." Buffy quipped to the two stunned guys that the vamp girl was talking to before she exploded and vanished before their eyes.

"Mind if I walk you home?" She said, looping her arm through mine.

"Best offer I've had all week." I smiled wearily, thankful of my golden haired guardian. "Throw in a slap up dinner and who knows I may even put out."

"Does Doublemeat Palace count as 'slap up'?" She says.

"The real question is does Doublemeat count as actual food?"

* * *

Buffy deposits me safe and sound back to my motel room and bids me goodnight. I watch from the first floor balcony as she strolls off across the neon streaked carpark, casually twirling a stake.

I linger a while after she vanishes from sight, breathing in the cool, rain freshened air. My belly is full, my back pocket full of pay and my limbs ache in that good sort of way. Dawn is creeping up over the horizon, and the day will begin shortly.

Alexander Leville Harris was straight. Unquestionably. As an arrow.

But Alexandra Hart? Well… all I can say for certain (after dwelling over the subject for the duration it takes to eat two burgers and a shake) is that she isn't exactly straight.

And I know that much because whoever Alexandra Hart is, she is hopelessly crushing on Buffy Anne Summers.


	9. These Two Hands

Chapter 8

These Two Hands

You would think having a superhero as a best friend would help when it comes time to moving furniture, but Buffy is crushed between study and chasing down leads to a potential new big bad. Fortunately, I managed to get my new bed all the way up the stairs without dying.

Perhaps it is being on my feet all night and lugging around crates and kegs, but I am starting to feel exhausted less and less. Not that I was ever really out of shape, between swim team, skateboarding and, oh, running for my dear life, I had a body that certainly got me a thong full of dollar, dollar bills yo. But that body was not this body. And as toned and lean as this one was, I couldn't help but notice the huge drop in muscle mass. And of course, everything in my world was suddenly bigger and heftier now.

Willow was in New York, dutifully visiting her parents as part of some cousins wedding. I kinda felt hurt that she didn't ask me to help her pick out a dress. But I guess formal wear and us is a combination enmeshed with great pain and complex guilty feelings, so I let it slide.

And me? I have been flat out at The Bronze since that first week. I found that throwing myself into my work was every bit as effective as ignoring my problems, with the added bonus of cash prizes. Who knew?

Well… Maggie must have noticed, as I found myself rostered on more and more, until I had effectively become full time. I am sure Davey got the flick because of me, but it didn't take much to work harder than Davey. I hear Gil joined a snake cult and Max had an accident with a BBQ fork, which just left me, Casey K and Sandra.

Casey K was a laid back chick with an easy smile and long mousy hair. She kinda reminded me of Janice The Muppet. Apparently there was a Casey G, and while he mysteriously vanished a while ago, her given initial stayed. Casey K was a dedicated stoner who somehow managed to stay sharp as a tack, and who set about her tasks by sort of rolling smoothly around the bar in a continuous flow. Casey K would float by and voila, drinks down and money magically collected. She was easy to work with, as she didn't ask me any personal questions. She did ask things like "you think mice would make clothes if they had opposable thumbs?", but that was mainly to herself.

Sandra was nosy and I didn't like that one bit. A slender girl with white skin and smoothed down brown hair and a neck that one could describe as swan like. She favoured black and often wore peasant tops that showed off her cleavage and… to think of it I did notice she always got way better tips than me.

Hmm. Filing that one away for later.

So here I am in my new apartment. Casa del Harris. Shit. Hart. (Casa Del Corazon?) Anyway, it's just a block back from work and three from Gile's. It's not in the best shape, but the owner was happy for me to fix it up a bit for a slight rent cut. He just wanted to have someone, anyone take it. The rental market in Sunnydale? Strangely dead.

My bed is assembled and I got all the sheets on and I stand and take in the small open living space. It's actually about the same shape and size as my basement domain, but with the sun shining through the windows and everything freshly painted white it feels enormous and filled with new potential. Maybe it's the fumes, but I feel good. It's a good feeling.

And as I unpack my meagre possessions from my backpack to the bathroom cabinet, I give a little smile to the girl in the mirror with paint on her cheek.

And she smiles at me too.

* * *

So, heads up, Spike is back in town.

I know this because he is currently standing at the bar right in front of me. Looking directly at me.

"Hello, in there." He says to me with words calm and smooth that hum deeply around my skull. He. William The Bloody. A mass murderer. A monster capable of unimaginable atrocities, as well as very, very imaginable ones too.

And he is less than a foot away from me.

Damn it, the shift has been brutal busy and I didn't think, I just leaned in to take the order before I realised who it was.

His eyes are ice blue and he smells of leather… and something sweet and musky I can't place. I had never noticed the scar that cuts his eyebrow in half. But, I mean fair, I am either usually running from or being punched in the face, forgive me if I miss the details.

"I… I… I… am sorry, what can I get you?"

A slow, bemused smile crawls over his face and notice his tongue press to his teeth. He leans even closer.

"One beer." He says. I blink. Blink again. "You know the stuff. Brown, wet, comes in bottles." I glance around and realise I am indeed, surrounded by such things. I will my limbs to respond.

"Uh, two fifty." I say, not looking up as I place the opened bottle down in front of the mass murderer who likes to drink girl's blood until they are very, very dead. And who is staring at me like a meal. I turn and edge away, scouring the crowd for Buffy.

"Now hold on." He says, a warning note in his voice. I freeze. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

I turn back slowly, every hackle up. My stake, cross and holy water is in my satchel at the other end of the bar. His head is tilted down, eyes glinting wickedly in the bar light.

"You forgot your tip."

I look down at the bill in his hand. It feels like the obvious cheese on the obvious mouse trap, but I can't think of an explanation as to why I wouldn't take it. I don't want to draw his attention like this, and I sure as hell don't want to alert him that I know what he is.

I put on my practiced smile puff out a breath, pretending I am just being ditzy. I try to look as relaxed as possible as I reach out to take the offered money. Of course he doesn't let go.

"Now, what is it about you, that has me curious, I wonder." He says, again far too inside my personal space. "There is something awfully familiar about you."

"Well." I say, licking my dry lips so I can form words "Here six days a week. Plus I have, you know, one of those faces."

"Oh, I think I would remember a face like yours, pet." He says. I swallow and try a small, flirty smile back.

"Can I get you anything else dude?" I try to say casually. His smile widens and becomes more lascivious.

"Oh I think so."

"Just what's on the menu, pal." I say.

"Well, that depends. The blooming onion is on the menu still, is it not?" He says, victorious. The bill is released and I turn and step away.

I remember to breathe as I jar the tip. When I dare to look back, Spike has vanished.

I waited till sunrise to walk home, regardless.

* * *

Giles blinks up at me from his book with a curious expression.

I am a sight, I am sure. Flustered and wide eyed, standing in his kitchen clad in the tracksuit pants and top Buffy lent me and clutching an arm full of weapons.

"Xander are you alright?"

"Never better." I squeak and proceed to place the sword, axe, several stakes and assorted throwing knives onto his dining table and wave my hands at them.

"Are you sure?"

"So like, watchers whole thing is teaching girls how to fight, right?" He peels off his glasses and leans back in his chair.

"Well, that's one way to put it but it's much more-"

"Teach me." I say. "Please? I… I… know I am no Slayer, but… I need… I need… I hate feeling… so…"

"It's alright Xander. It's alright." He says comfortingly. "Are you certain you want to do this? Studying martial arts requires dedication and constant-"

"I know, I...I… haven't been good at that stuff in the past. But I swear to you, I've changed. I am different now. Please Giles."

He looks at me firmly for what feels like forever.

"Go out back and start warming up. I need to change."

"Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you"

"You are lucky I am unemployed and, well to put it mildly, bored out of my skull. You can't be any more lazy and distracted a student then Buffy, I suppose. Go on with you, I will be out in a moment."


	10. Things Unsaid

Chapter 9

Things Unsaid

Okay, so Spike has me spooked, I am man enough to admit it. And for the last three nights I have been real jittery at work. Every corner checked, every customer entering glanced over for bleached hair. Thankfully, it was all for naught. He hasn't returned to the Bronze all week.

I can't get his eyes out of my head. It was they way he looked at me. Like… a whole wigsome world of new that sinks into my flesh. He… uhg.

I punch the bag faster. I punch it harder. I punch it like my life depends on it. One last slam and I half step, half stagger back, falling upon my tight little butt on Gile's lawn. I gasp up lungfuls of sky.

That goddamn stare.

"Looks like I got me some competition." Buffy says. She is leaning on the doorframe, her arms casually slipped in her pockets.

"Oh… puhlease… I… seen you… punch… one of these… right off… the chains."

"Serves it right too. It was talking trash about my shoes. What was I supposed to do, take it? I think not. Seriously though, I am impressed."

"I thank you... for not mocking... my efforts." I climb to my feet and start unwrapping my hands. Trying, at least. Buffy steps real close and starts helping me. She smells of vanilla lotion and sun warmed skin, and I catch myself wanting to bury my head into her neck and take a deep long sniff. Cheeks flushed, I turn my head away and hold my breath.

My crush? Well, apparently doing my best to ignore it hasn't killed it off none. It feels every bit as strong and painful as when she crushed my heart back in high school.

_I'm sorry Xander, I just… don't think of you that way._

It hurt. I sulked. I dealt. At least, I think I had. Friend zone is a pretty cool place to be with a superhero, after all. Not a consolation prize, but an honour. Sure, I never stopped feeling attracted to her, but I had a place in her heart and that was enough.

But since my return, I don't know, I just felt closer to her. She spoke more freely to me, more playful and yes, more intimately about things like… well, sexy wiring. She was physically closer too. But… I… well, perhaps I was being accepted into a closer circle. Yeah, I was one of the girls now. That's all that happened, I am sure. But that closeness kick started my feelings again. And I don't know why, but they felt louder and more… intrinsic to my whole being. I wasn't… uhg.

I wasn't just thinking with my dick.

Buffy shoots me an easy smile as she finally works free my hands. Still holding my breath I nod a thankful smile and immediately retreat to a safe distance. A big sip of water from my canteen makes a perfect excuse. Buffy absentmindedly steadies the swinging bag, as I towel down.

"Sooo, Buffster, didn't happen to stake Spike lately did ya?"

"No such luck. Word on the street he has something big brewing. No details. But as soon as he sticks that dumb head out of whatever hole he has crawled into, I will promptly remove it for him." Her melancholy then starts to show. "I hope Drusilla pops up too. I still owe her for Kendra."

"You will get her Buff. Have faith." I say and for a moment she looks away. Oh. I am such an idiot.

But she recovers in style, looping her arm around mine and walking me back to the house.

"Damn girl, is that a six pack going on down there?" She jokes, giving my belly a prod. A Buffy bulb goes on. "Oooh keg."

"What?" I look down, confused.

"Keg. Yunno… that kegger is on tonight."

"No. No way. Not in a million years."

"Come on. You never come out anymore. All work and no play makes Xander a dull…" her turn to wince.

"Answers no."

"Not acceptable."

"No."

"Denied. Overruled."

"Defendants appeals on grounds of severe disinterest."

"Don't make me pout." She looks at me with those big hazel eyes and a look of innocence. "Here it comes."

I groan up at the sky before she drags me inside.

_Shit_.

* * *

The Scooby meeting is kind of a bust in all things supernatural tonight. Newcomer Tara is sitting on the floor nursing a mug of herbal tea, whilst Buffy and I take up the couch. Buffy has my legs across her lap, painting my toenails a deep black blue color will ruthless efficiency. My fingers are held exactly where she commanded them to be (so as to avoid smudging her work).

Willow is sitting across from us all on the recliner, her knees drawn up to her chin. She seems distant still and though she is civil to Tara, she never looks at her for more than a glance. I try to include her, to keep things light with a joke, but I just am at a loss.

Giles seems listless. Since Olivia returned to England, I can't help but feel a part of him went with her. I think it's s great he is starting to move on from Jenny. I mean, she was an amazing woman, and it was obvious Giles never really got over her death, as much as his stiff upper lip hid it. He seemed rejuvenated when Olivia was here (I met her briefly twice). She has reached him, and that's both a good thing and a bad.

Buffy doesn't really need Giles anymore. He is no longer in with The Watchers Council. He feels abandoned and lacking in purpose. I see a spark of the old Giles when we train, but I can't fan it to a flame. Maybe Olivia is his future. And that means returning to England. He hasn't said anything yet, but I can feel it hanging in the air.

I feel a weight pressing down on my heart as I look around the room, and I realise, with utter dismay what is going on.

The Scoobies are ending.

* * *

I am at the goddamn kegger.

And yes, I may have put on makeup and done something with my hair, but it isn't for Buffy. No.

And the scoop neck backless black top I have on with silver threads woven through it to catch the light isn't to impress her. I got it just to lever those juicy bar tips out from Sandy's nosey little nose, nothing more.

And sure, the bangles on my wrist compliment the silver in my top, but I didn't get them because Buffy said they would suit me. I just, yunno, though they were okay.

All coincidences and, at best, slander about my solid personal choices.

Definitely not vanity, and definitely not enjoying expressing something a little different from my usual, androgynous style. No sir.

Fuck it, I mean, I look damn hot in this. And my back muscles are just off the hook these days.

Across the room from me, Buffy and Tara know many of the people and are animatedly chatting. Well, Buffy more so than Tara, but the witch sure is coming out of her shell. Her stutter doesn't seem to be emerging tonight as she recounts a story to the amusement of a handful of psych majors. Hands wave and she makes little scenes with them to illustrate. It only just occurred to me she is drunk.

That kicks in my bar staff instinct and I vow to watch her cup and keep her topped with water. Wow, she really is a different person when she relaxes. Buffy is smiling as she listens, nodding in confirmation of Tara's story, backing her up and laughing at the appropriate times. Buffy is a fantastic wing man. Or wing ma'am. It will be great if Tara finds someone.

It would be great if we all do.

Crap. I feel lonely.

A muscular guy approaches me (what's with all the guys in this frat being just super buff?).

Shit. I take it back. Lonely is fine.

He is dressed in a tight black shirt that looks expensive and is ironed crisply. His slacks creased down the line, his shoes polished. His face is long and clean shaven, with brown skin and a close shaved head. He isn't nervous, isn't aggressive, it feels… effortless.

"Hey, I'm Forrest. You're Buffy's friend, Alexandra, right?".

"Mmm hmmm" I nod, hiding behind my big red cup. The low plunging top suddenly seems like a terrible, terrible idea. His eyes don't dip down once, which, dude I have to give major props to.

"Its great to finally get to meet you. You know, she talks very highly of you, Alexandra."

"She does? Wha… what's she say?"

"Well, for starters, It true she died once? Drowned or something?"

"Oh, yeah. Yes. True." I say. "I gave her CPR. Huh. I didn't think she remembered that."

"Oh she does. Trust me. I mean, you don't ever forget something like that."

I notice the way he leans against the wall. He is beside me, facing the same way, angled just a little towards me, but not crowding me at all, which, I mean, jesus the dude is the definition of solid and has a good 15 inches on me… well, current me.

"She trusts you with her life girl. Now I don't know about you but there are but two people I can count in this world that I could say that of."

I nod sadly, and take a long drink from my cup.

Buffy is looking at me again.

I thought I was imagining it the first time. Projecting my crush on her or something, but no. I look away for a bit, then back and there she is, looking at me with a pensive sort of expression. She looks away as soon as I catch her.

"You not a party type?" Forrest says, snapping me back into reality.

"Heh, well, you see I work in hospitality. This is all… yunno… too much like work. Only without bouncers."

"Well, that's actually not true. We got a few guys stationed around keeping an eye out. So if you get any trouble from anyone, anything at all, just gimme a nod and they are out quicker than you can blink, okay? This is Lowell House, our house, and we want you to feel safe here."

"Uh, thanks man." I say, actually touched. He smiles easy and nods, then saunters off to join a circle of people. I gotta say, this Forrest guy is smooth as all get out, and boy could I have used a few lessons from him back when I was… when I needed it.

I glance back at Buffy and she looks away again, pulling a smile to a strange girl cracking a joke.

I swallow back my beer from the ubiquitous red plastic cup and suddenly need to get me some air. I need to process what is going on. My wiring is all wiggy again, and I feel dangerously on the edge of something I can't take back.

Safely outside and the moon is full and bright. Oz is out there somewhere. I hope he is having better luck with his changes.

I weave through the party goers and find a quiet spot sitring on the railing of the porch. I nurse my empty cup and beat a slow rhythm in time with the music against the wood with my heels.

Buffy appears beside me leaning on the rail from behind.

"Hey you." Buffy says softly. "You okay?"

"Not remotely." I reply. Her hand finds the back of mine, and she effortlessly draws herself up so she is sitting beside me on the rail, but on the other side, facing back towards the party. "Everything is such a jumble up here." A skull is indicated.

"Yeah, I know that feeling." She says, but then a mischievous smile crosses her lips. "Forrest struck out, huh?"

I chuckle.

"If I am into guys, he would definitely be up the toppish end of the list."

"There's a list? Oooh. Care to share?"

"I think… I may be gay." I said.

"Gay gay boy or…?"

"Buffy, I… I like girls." I say, looking at her. "I like a girl."

Buffy blushes and squeezes my hand.

"S'funny. Of the two of us, you had the balls to say it first." A laugh. Then she takes a deep, shaky breath. "It's taken me a while to get my head around everything, how I have been feeling. I mean, you are all my best friends so it shouldn't be so hard to say but… it's been this crazy wall just sitting there. Yunno. Like, you wanna say something but..." She sucks in another breath and closes her eyes. When they open to me I feel like I catch alight. My body is tingling awake.

I know I am in love with her now.

"Xander. I like girls too. A girl. And I…"

I kiss her.

Her lips feel amazing against mine, lush warm and so, so unimaginably soft. Together it feels like velvet, like the most…

Buffy rips herself backwards, and I open my eyes to see her standing bolt upright with a shocked look on her face, she turns to Tara who is by the door holding two cups.

"Tara, I didn't… I swear..." Buffy says to Tara, hands raised, she points to me and says "she kissed me… I would never…"

Tara's face is bloodless and she looks at me in horror, then back to Buffy, who steps to her side, hands desperately grasping at the girls sleeve.

"I swear, I would never… I don't think of her like that."

Oh god, oh god.

I drop to the ground and land gracelessly, finding my feet enough to run. I am four strides on before my tears begin to flow and I feel the anger and loss and humiliation all over again. I growl and whine as I sprint, sob and scream until my legs are burning and my heart wants to hammer itself free from my ribs.

I run on. Run faster. Run harder. Run like my life was over.

I run into the darkness like it could swallow me up.

And that's when I run, blinded with tears and burning with shame, headlong into a rock solid wall of a man. A black leather duster furls about me like bat wings around a moth. That's when a vice like hand seizes my wrist, shooting white hot pain up my arm. The hand that follows clamps onto my throat so hard it cuts off my scream.

"Well, hello again Pet."


	11. Fine Dining

Chapter 10

Fine Dining

It's about 9pm and my motorcycle was on the fritz again. The tanks is still half full of overpriced gas that half emptied my (second) wallet, so I know it isn't just running out of gas like in Bunkerville.

But if I read my (third) map right, it isn't too long to go before I hit Santaquin, and that means the finest no star motel I can find and the ability to check the bike over first light.

I am pretty sure by this stage that if I can see it, I can fix it.

I have met too many creatures of the night to want to stop on a pitch black highway with no torch. So I press my luck and lean in to the gas. With a bit of luck I can get there before whatever is dying dies.

I am, of course, known for my luck. Usually my luck boils down to panicking at the right moment.

So when I lowside into a turn, and panic kicks in, I do the thing one should not do at high speed. Well, one of the many, many things one should not do at high speed. I squeeze the front break.

It's too dark to see the world tumble over and over and over. I see the headlight above me somewhere, just for a moment before it smashes out, and leaves me to myself collecting injuries in the darkness.

But I am not dead. I am pain itself. But I am not dead. I am all the winces and hops and hisses as I peel myself off the tarmac with skinless palm heels. I get my bearings first. This is up. This is down. My arms are still my arms and my legs probably are too, as much as they wish they were anyone else's right now. My tongue is swollen with blood and I can feel a small flap where I bit it through.

When I see my bike, I am amazed I got up at all, let alone have all my original teeth.

In the comedy movie of my life, this would be the bit where a truck ran over the machine's remains as a final insult to injury. Instead the road was silent and empty as far as I could see. Still, the image stuck with me and I began to chuckle. Then laugh until tears sting the cuts on my face.

I drag the remains to the ditch and dump them there. A few words spoken over the grave (all of them expletives) and I bid my friend of the road goodbye and start limping in the direction I think Santaquin may be.

And, naturally, I was wrong.

I snap awake with the taste of blood in my mouth and the feeling a truck just blasted past me on the road with it's horn blaring.

I am seated upright in a chair, my head lolling as I come to my senses. Yes, I am seated, well, more strapped to, a metal chair by thin sharp cables wound around and around my wrists, under my breasts and my ankles and knees. I try to pull at one, but the coils tighten, cruelly biting into my flesh.

"All your strength won't help you, pet. In fact, it will harm you." Spike said. "But my all means, tug away if you like. I had the boys put some plastic down so we don't waste a drop."

I look up to see him sitting at the opposite end of an ornate dining table. His chair is a baroque wooden throne which he lounges back in like a rock star, his heavy boots rudely sit among the fine china. The candle light isn't bright enough to illuminate the room, but maybe I don't want to; There is the faint funk of rotten meat in the air and that only adds to my nausea.

"You… uhg… you… forgot… your blooming onion." I say.

Spike shakes his head and starts to snicker. He slaps his legs and shifting back in his seat like something good finally came on the 'telly'.

"I mean… it's probably cold by now." I say. I need to spit the blood out of my mouth but that would be like a rag to a bull. I swallow and it's awful. "But if you let me go I will get you a fresh one."

"I see you are just as mouthy as the other one." He says, standing. He slowly strolls along the dining table, one hand trailing along, knocking the knives and plates to the floor. "I would say it's a Slayer thing, but I've met just as many miserable ones as the comedians." He scoops up the carving knife. "Killed those ones. Maybe it just skips a generation."

He gets up in my face again, and I feel my insides turn ice. I pull back but the bindings bite.

"It's got me wondering, it has, does the funny ones taste as good as the sour ones?"

"There must be some kind of mistake. Slayer? What's a Slayer? I'm not a… what makes you think I'm... " he seizes me by my hair so I face him.

"Because I have been watching you, pet." He says with a tight little grin. His tongue tip darts to wet his lip. "And oh, what did my little curious eyes see? Hmmm?" He leans in and whispers into my ear. "Everything."

He releases me, and then with a swipe sends the place setting before me loudly crashing to the floor. He leaps up and sits cross legged before me in the space he has made.

"Spike I…"

Shit.

"Oh? Now, that is interesting. She's told you about me, has she? Warned you all about the big bad? I am so curious to hear what interesting little facts you have learned about me, Miss Alexandra Joyce Hart. I know a few about you."

"You're wrong about me." I say.

"Am I now? Let's see. Young attractive woman, shows up out of nowhere, bit of a night owl, keeps to herself and never speaks about her past."

"So? People suck." Shit. Poor choice of words.

"She works at a bar where a lot of my men go into and yet, for some reason, rarely seem to come out of. Lives alone. No decorations. No family photos in her possessions, which do, however include crosses, holy water and stakes and well used medical supplies. And you will never guess who paid for her motel rooms."

"He's my… my boyfriend. I mean uncle. Uh… he's both. Our family? I am sure all the inbreeding makes us taste bad."

"You visit Rupert Giles every day in gym gear, and leave all sweaty?"

"I know this looks bad."

"It really does, doesn't it?" he smiles. "For you, at least. For me it's more of a 'brown paper packages', and 'snowflakes on eyelashes' kind of a deal".

He leans back and looks me up and down in that way I pretend men haven't started to look at me.

"You're a pretty one, I'll give you that, pet. All dark and broody. Far more interesting than Suzy Sunshine and her technicolor Scoobies.

"A bird who looks like you could have it all. Couldn't you? But instead you skulk around in the dark. With us."

He sits forward and places an icy cold finger on my exposed sternum. I can feel his nail catching as he drags it down between my breasts. My breath hitches as he lingers there, his eyes crawling over my flesh.

"You would be quite the immortal, you know, Alexandra... Hart." His claw hovers on my ribcage over the beating organ. My body is responding and I hate it for it. I feel... I feel...

"The things I could teach you about freedom, Alexandra. Things you secretly desire. The most equisite pleasures and wanton depravities for you to enjoy, for all eternity."

"You do love to hear yourself talk, don't you?" I say. "Honestly, what good is eternity if I have to listen to you prattle on and on."

"Oh I am gonna enjoy drinking you."

"Yeah, well, I was already having the shittiest goddamn night of my joke of a life before you showed up, so please, if you are gonna kill me can you just get on to it, because honestly I am so, so sick of looking at that smug little face whilst you bore me to death with how clever you think you are, you narcissistic, limey, pastey, watered down Billy Idol wannabe that I…"

He is amused by all this. I don't want him amused. I want him to hurt.

I want him to hurt like I hurt.

"No wonder Drusilla left you."

I cry out as he flies towards me, an inhuman roar from his too wide jaws. And for a second I taste my own blood as his fangs tear into my throat.


	12. Damsel In Dat Dress

Chapter 11

Damsel in Dat Dress

It the movies, this is the bit where the woman gasps in rapturous pleasure, the subtext obvious for all. But being bitten by a vampire is nothing like in the movies. Not at all.

My brain is on overdrive at this moment, and everything slows down to a deadly crawl. I am a spectator inside to my own destruction, watching in a detached way before the pain draws me back in.

His fangs are needle sharp at first, then widen like blades, after which they fatten out greatly- not so much slicing but tearing open the flesh.

Then, the pressure kicks in as the lips anchor and form a seal. You feel a burning behind the wound, and a sudden dropping sensation through your body as the pressure shifts. I feel woozy straight away, my muscles losing tension so even if my body wasn't lashed down, I doubt I would be able to put up much of a fight.

Spike's hand rips my head to the side sharply as he adjusts, and the agony renews as his fangs scrape around inside the wounds. I am screaming, not out of fear, I am way beyond that, it is a primal, reflexive thing, pulling itself up from the pit of my lungs.

I know I am greying out as the sucking and slurping sound starts to chop out, the pain coming in staccato.

A loud metal bang and white hot pain in my wrists and ankles stirs me… makes my eardrums whistle and kicks my heart up a notch. The chair I am on has tipped back and Spike is gone.

I hear fists connecting with flesh, and voices yelling, and a crash of ceramic and splintering wood. The thud of many feet against floorboards. More fighting and the roar of vampires echoing around me. So many voices and chaos and pain.

Fighting hurts. A vamp broke my arm once right where I stood, yunno? Fighting is hard and exhausting and I am glad right now it isn't me. I don't have to fight for once. Or anymore. Which is good. Because I am so tired. So, damn… tired. But it's okay. It's fine. Not long to go now and the pain will stop. Not long to go and…

Hmmm.

_I bet Buffy stakes me right in the heart._

_Third times the charm_.

* * *

In my dream, everything is noir lighting and harsh diagonals. There is no color in my office, even the blinking neon sign from across the street is devoid of color. In my mirror my skin is grey, with darker grey of my stubble. I adjust my tie and run my fingers along the rim of my fedora to set it just right.

Chicago is a tough city, and in these mean streets image is everything. A detective has to look sharp, tough, smooth, in control.

"Doors unlocked." I say to the broad outside. "You can come on in or stay there thinking about knocking a while longer. Makes no difference to me, lady."

I uncork the rotgut in my top draw and pour two glasses.

"Little presumptive of you Mr. Harris." She says behind me. "How did you know I even drink?" You can tell a lot from a voice, and hers? Well, it's darker and smokier than that opium den on fifth, and I am talking during the insurance fire that raised it to the ground. Boston born, she knew how to play tough, play the game. This dame knows what her voice she can do to a man, and man, is it doing it to me right now.

I down the first scotch, then the second.

"Oh, did you want one too?".

I take a seat and take an eyeful. And what an eyeful. Her clothes are expensive but her perfume cheap. Her eyes are framed in dark kohl, or maybe just all scorched from how smouldering her gaze is. Her eyes are the richest brown you can show in shades of grey. A wicked lady with sharp nails and a sharper mind. A lady killer. She is all dangerous curves, and I am used to driving fast. "You wanna cut to the chase"?

"Got me a problem." She purrs "Heard all over town that you're the best man for the job. Maybe I heard wrong. You don't look nothin' but a liquored up two bit gumshoe to me."

"I didn't go to detective academy for six years to forget the first rule of detectives, lady. You never take appearances at first face value on the surface. Or, something like that." I stand and make my way over to her. She sets her jaw and fixes me with her most seductive look. "What's the job? Revenge? Murder? Kidnapping? Arson? Lost puppy? Giant Snakes?"

"Yes." She says, sauntering toward me like nobody dared saunter before. She had it all, and wanted more.

"Gotta be more specific." I say.

Her lips are close to mine, luscious and trembling like... temptation flavoured jelly. (Okay, I admit that one was a stretch).

"What I want, Mr. Harris, is her to take this out." Her eyes flick down. I follow them all the way down to where they are taking me with a few brief stops for sightseeing.

The murderer had driven the blade deep into her gut. The thick trickle of blood that runs down her leg looks jet black on this film stock, and it is crawling slowly back up towards the point of penetration. Not long to go now.

"Please." She says, a tear trailing up her cheek. "Please Xander. Please… it hurts. It hurts so much."

"I'll take the case, lady." I say, and the saxophone music swells.

"Well alright then." She says with a sneer and flicks her head back, her eyes sparkling. "Give us a kiss."

* * *

I feel hot lips on mine, soft like Buffy's, but fuller and firmer and familiar and… and… Buffy? Oh, I want to die all over again.

The strong breath is hard and long and surprises me. My lungs inflate against my own instinct and I gag. I am rolled onto my side as I splutter and cough violently.

"About frikking time." The voice says. She isn't Buffy. I feel my hand lifted and pressed to my neck.

"Keep pushin' on this." The girl says in a weak, dry voice. "Hold it tight like it's holding ya life in, because it is. I'm gonna go call the paramedics."

My saviour is kneeling over me in the candlelight. She wears a long bright red fluffy sweater coat and dark green pants, her grey shirt has a floral pattern but is flecked with blood and ash. Her dark brown hair hangs in long, limp, greasy locks about her pallid face. Her eyes are bruised and pink, and her lips are bloodless.

"You look as bad as I feel." I say. Her lips form an uncertain lopsided smile and she lets out a single, tired huff of a laugh.

"Backatcha hot stuff." She grins.

She stands slow and pained, and staggers to keep her balance. A wipe of her mouth on her sleeve and she is looking around for an exit. I know that look.

I know her.

I...

I realise it was Faith Lehane a second after she is gone.


	13. Obligatory Hospital Scene

Chapter 12

Obligatory Hospital Scene

I hate hospitals, so no. No. I am not doing this. Forget it. No. Nuh. Move along.

Seriously, the chapter is over.

Why are you still here?


	14. Messages

Chapter 13

Messages

I dump the grocery bag on the kitchenette bench and drag the chair over to the fridge so I can sit down as I bin all the science experiments inside.

The answer phone is blinking full, and I couldn't care less. I didn't call Giles or Buffy or Willow whilst I was in the hospital. I didn't call anyone. I just sat there in a haze of heavy painkillers and heavier emotions.

I couldn't help but think of Cordelia, hurt and heart broken as she sat in that hospital bed. She shut me out when I tried everything to reach her, to explain, to get her to forgive me. I left call after call on her answering machine. I pleaded, a begged, I played the lovable rogue, the jackass, the penitent man. I squirmed like a worm on a hook. But I didn't deserve a second chance. Because I had already spent it. I had a hundred chances to not cheat on her. I did. I kissed Willow. Me. It wasn't a fluke. It was a choice. A fork in the road.

Cordelia Chase was the hottest, most popular girl in the school. She could have had anyone, but she chose me. And as much as she pretended otherwise, I realise now she actually was in love with me. She fell down all those social rungs to be with me. She lost her friends to be with me. She acted tough, and bitchy and shallow, but under it all she was as vulnerable as me.

I may as well have driven that rebar through her myself.

And there I was, a year or so later, experiencing the same thing. Just a girl in a bed, humiliated and alone, with a broken heart and a broken body.

I deserved to suffer every single second of it.

So I did.

I shake myself back to the now, where I sit in my apartment staring at the blinking answering machine.

I unplug it and then shove it off the bench so hard it smashes against the wall.

I wince as I reach for the bag and slowly I begin restocking the fridge.

* * *

Garbage are playing at The Bronze tonight and it is packed. The one thing The Mayor did for this crazy town he created was pull enough strings to get record companies legally obligated to tour major acts here. It's bait, of course. The sacrificial lambs like their music.

I work my way around the outside of the crowd with the intention of reaching the office, but #1 Crush begins to play. I love that song. I stop to watch them cast a spell over the young crowd.

I was a simple 'yes' away from being one of the dark things that prays on them. Lurking at the back like this, looking to the herd for the vulnerable. And it was tempting.

As I watch the band on stage, I remember Jessie trying to sway me to their side. He was the first I staked. By accident, but the first nonetheless.

"Remember, Xander. If you see Jessie, you are not looking at your friend. You are looking at the demon that killed him."

Spike wanted me. Wanted to give me power. Immortality. To be at his side like Drusilla. And in that wanting, in his desire for me, I felt powerful. Maybe that was enough. But it wouldn't be me, would it? And I realised I hadn't stopped my road journey of discovery when I limped back to Sunnydale. I was on strange roads as we speak. Roads that twist and carry me into strange new places and new feelings. And at the end of that road I get the thing I set out for in the first place- I get to know who I really am.

And to give all that up so Drusilla 2.0 could take over the wheel? No. I refuse.

"Alex?" Maggie Mott gasps out as she passes me. "It is you… oh my dear girl."

And she hugs me. My boss actually hugs me. She looks me up and down.

"We all thought you were dead." She says.

"I was." I shrug. "For about five minutes. All the angelic voices said "Alex...go towards the light… and I was all like… shush bitches, I can't die now, Maggie will kill me if I do."

Maggie pulled me into another hug, this time to deliver a whisper into my ear.

"You are back, right? It's been chaos around here without you."

"Is this an "of course you can have your job back and we will promote you to assistant manager and up your rate so you can pay your hospital bills after your near death experience" kinda hug?"

"Wait, you mean you actually… hold on"

A few moments later she has dragged me into office. Door firmly closed behind her, she turns and tips her glasses. "What happened?"

I am tired of all the bullshit, so I just I show her the puncture scars on my neck. Maggie isn't stupid. I suspected she knows the score in Sunnydale, but it's hard to bring up the subject with your employer without coming off crazy.

She nods in understanding.

"Why didn't you call from the hospital?" She says softly. Why didn't I? Because I wanted to shut the whole world out and pretend it didn't exist. But I am an asshole, so I lie instead.

"I did. I left a message with Casey K. God… she is such a stoner, she forgot to tell you, didn't she?"

"Alex, Casey's dead." Maggie sighed. "Like I said. It's been chaos."

When I find my voice again, I whisper "How?"

"Officially? Wild dogs."

I nod. Enough said. I slip my hands into my bomber jacket pockets. Damn this town. I liked Casey K. That dumb, muppety, kind, weirdo... I feel cold tears slip across my hot cheeks.

"You okay?"

"Maggie, I need… I… would like to get back to work."

"You think your ready?"

"All I know is it has been one hard fricking month. I just need to focus on something that's of the else. I just want to get back to work."

"Well. Wipe your face and get your ridiculous bony little ass downstairs and get to it, Alex with an E."

"Thanks boss."


	15. Of All The Gin Joints

Chapter 14

Of All The Gin Joints

The Bronze is dead tonight. It's just Sandy and me on the bar. Everything that needs doing has been done, and Sandy is serving the occasional patron whilst I lean against the cake display trying to think of something else to do so I don't need to think. I already ate half a big assed slice of black forest out of sheer boredom but my new metabolism refuses to let me finish it in one go. Ch-ch-ch-chaaaaanges.

Sandy has finally got the message that I don't want to talk about why I was in hospital, but it took a few of my best solid scowls to get through to her. But she backs off easy this time, trying, perhaps, the whole sympathy thing on or at least the closest thing to sympathy her universe has. She talks instead about her struggles with her boyfriend, Zane, who seems like a carbon copy of old me, and I fight the urge to just grab her and shake her and tell her to leave the jerk.

Perhaps I should take my own advice.

I take another fork full of cake because there isn't anything better to do and instantly regret it. Maybe my period is coming and I am in a worse mood than usual. I should probably start tracking it, but that is a whole level of acceptance of my situation I haven't been ready for. It comes, I deal as quickly and functionally as possible, it goes, I move on. At least I don't seem to get the heavy, disabling cramps I hear other girls complain about. My shark week is less Jaws more… well, Troll or Critters 2 or... God, I don't even know where I am going with this metaphor.

"Jack and coke. More Jack than Coke." A smokey, slurred voice comes from over by the bar. Then a beat, followed by a firm "What?"

"You got I.D?" Sandy says to the girl sitting at the bar wearing a black wife beater and leather pants. I put down my fork and plate and swallow back the thick, sickly sweet mouthful.

Yunno, I had just gotten to the headspace that said it wasn't Faith that had saved me. That I was delirious and on the edge of consciousness, and that it was just some girl who looked kinda like her.

"Are you being serious right now?" Faith slurs, leaning menacingly forward. Sandy crosses her arms, having no idea the danger she is in.

"It's okay Sandy, I got this." I say, walking over. "It's dead tonight, go take a free break." Sandy looks confused, but does as she is told.

I pour a Slayer-sized glass of Daniels and douse it with post mix. "On the house." I say.

Faith looks down at the glass. That wrinkle she gets between her brow when she is confused makes an appearance.

"I know you?" She says slow and slurred. I place my hand to my neck by way of demonstration.

"Still holding it in like it's my life." I say.

She squints at me a little while and then her face flicks through, well, a few emotions but I catch recognition, awkwardness and embarrassment, maybe the merest hint of smile and a follow up frown.

"Oh." She says. "You look better."

She places a long, slender finger on the glass and pulls it lazily towards her, like she doesn't really want it much. Those fingers brought my aching erection to her lips. Those fingers wrapped around my throat and slowly crushed the life from me. Those fingers held a knife to Willow's throat. Those fingers have taken lives.

Those fingers cut my bindings free and beat against my ribcage until my heart started, and tilted back my head so she could breathe life back into me.

"You look about the same." I said. Sure the lipstick and heavy eyeliner was back, but her skin was sickly and her eyes looked pink with exhaustion. She is also way too drunk to be drinking anything more.

She huffs that first note of a laugh and glares into her drink. I back off, leaning against the bar behind me, palms on the cool steel, staring at the girl who smashed a 'her' shaped hole through my life.

Or I should say _his_ life. _My_ life she saved.

"You seen a doctor?" I said.

"You ain't my ma."

"No. But _my_ mom's idea of seeing a medical professional is adding Doctor Peppers to her daily bottle of vodka. Comparisons can be made. I am just trying to return that favor someone did me."

"This will do fine." She says, tilting her glass to me in a salute before taking a sip. She winces, screwing both eyes shut. One sneaks open. "Finally, a girl who knows how to pour."

"See above comment about my family life."

She puts the glass down and nurses it.

"Yeah, well. You ain't alone in that one, sister." She says. "Ma drank herself to death by the time I was twelve. You'd think it would have set me right. But, here we all are." She pastes on that familiar grin that never reached her eyes. "History repeats and all that."

I wave my hand around, indicating my profession. "Exhibit B, your honour." She chuckles at this. "But seriously, you don't look well at all."

"Would you beleive that I got stabbed in the gut, took a five story dive, and been in a coma for, like, nine months?"

"Hey, I was stalked, kidnapped and nearly turned by a 140 year old master vampire who thinks Sid and Nancy is the height of romance. You would be surprised by what things I am willing to accept these days."

She looks at me now, casually, calmly, her eyes are sad but her smile is easy and natural.

"You got a name?"

"No. My parents were weird that way." Another chuckle. "It's Alex. Alexandra."

"Well Alex, just a heads up. I saved your ass sure, but let's get this straight. I ain't the play nice type. And I ain't gonna be your friend or nuthin."

"Hey, I just pour the drinks." I say.

"But" she says, tipping her head to the side "you're alright."

"And _you_ still need medical attention."

"Can't. No ID or insurance or nuthin." She says, dipping her finger into the drink and running it around the lip. I gaze at her whilst her head is down. Wrestling with the emotions inside me that are rolling over and over. I should hate her, fear her, want to hurt her like she hurt me. Strangle what little light is left in those sad, sickly drunken, empty eyes. At the very least I should let her leave. Bleed out internally or call the cops to arrest her.

I could always call Buffy.

"Blood type?" I say.

"What?"

"What. Is. Your. Blood. Type?"

"Why, you got a stash back there or..?"

"Because I am O positive. I am also caucasian, brunette, about your age and if you squint, your height and I do, in fact, have medical insurance. Now are you gonna let me help you out or are you gonna be a dumb ass?"

"I'm O pos." She says, somewhat baffled.

"Sandy! Take over. Lock up tonight. And finish this damn cake for me" I shout. I grab my coat and satchel. Faith looks warily at me. "Well? You coming or not?"


	16. Naked To The Eye

Chapter 15

Naked To The Eye

"This ain't the way to the hospital." Faith says, stopping suddenly. Her fists balled tight.

"No. _This_ is the way to my apartment, where you are gonna sober up tonight before I take you to the hospital." She angles her head, disbelievingly. I square off, hands on my hips and stare her down. "They won't treat you when you are this toasted, dumbass." I turn and keep walking.

She is a few steps behind me when I reach the door, unlock and thump my way up the flight of stairs to my place. I bee line for the fridge and take two bottles of water. She catches her bottle, and I turn my attention to hydrating and only hydrating, absolutely not trying to distract myself from the fact Faith Lehane is currently standing in my kitchen, which feels suddenly very, very small.

"Real nice place for just a barmaid." She says, spinning on her heels to take in the studio. "Who ya screwing for this?"

"It was a shithole when I got here. I fixed it up. That wall had a hole in it, I suspect a body was removed. The bench was shot, I added those shelves, and those over there by the bed. I made that table too."

"You need a life."

"I have a life." I take a glug of my water bottle. "I also have a nice apartment. Touche."

"I had a nice apartment. It had a Playstation and a big comfy bed you could bounce on. It was nice. Real nice." This statement drowns with melancholy. She scrunches up her mouth in anger for a moment.

"Drink that. All of it. The shower is through there. I will set up the couch." She nods, and pads her way into the bathroom. I hear her clumsily setting to work. The taps come on and the pipes over my head rattle.

I bin the bottle and place both hands over my face, taking in a long, slow breath. What the hell am I doing? What the very hell am I doing? I glance around my kitchen and notice all knives and scissors about the place, oh, and I have that battleaxe in the broom cupboard. What? Sue me- this is Sunnydale.

Of course, one of the most dangerous monsters in this whole crazy town is currently drunk off her mind and in my en suite singing what is possibly a Curve song to herself.

My neck is throbbing and my ribs are aching like a bitch. I think about the painkillers, sitting untouched on the lowest bookshelf by my bed and wave the idea away. 'Like father, like son' should no longer apply, right?

Still… maybe it could- yeaaaaahhhgg!

Faith is standing in front of me, completely and... and... shockingly naked. I swallow and turn my head to the side, memories flowing through me like AC.

As fast as I reacted, I still caught a glimpse of a wide, jagged scar on her lower abdomen.

"Uh… you got any towels?" She says, completely oblivious to her nudity.

"Yeah, sorry. Laundry day. Here." I say, and scoop off a towel from the basket. I hand it to her without looking away from my cosy safe wall.

"You don't got no sisters, I take it?" She says. I shake my head, my cheeks burning.

She isn't moving. I glance back at her, keeping my eyes strictly neck up.

She is staring at me with an amused expression, and it's like she is trying to figure something out. Her sallow cheeks are flushed with booze, and she sways a little. There is something cobra like in the motion.

Then, without any seeming trigger, she turns and heads back into the bathroom, leaving me to let go my breath. I hear the shower door curtain pulled closed and the sound of the water changes as she steps under it.

Right. Blankets. Pillows. I set about making up the couch.

That done, I just slump onto my bed and fight off the migraine I sense sneaking in to skullfuck me.

"I saved ya some hot water." Faith says when she appears, this time, I note, she has her nakedness hidden behind a towel.

"Oh, it's continuous hot water. You can just let it run and run and pretend it's washing your troubles away."

Faith is now looking about at my things. I don't have much stuff, not like I used to at home. Some graphic novels crept in, and some books- cocktail making and carpentry. A lamp. Some plants to stop the place feeling dead and empty. There are crosses and stakes here and there too. She holds one up, a big one and looks back at me, approvingly. She gives me a waggle of her brows, then puts it down, setting it spinning on the shelf. Her appraisal walk ends with her standing at the foot of my bed.

"I like it." She says. "It's spartan."

"Thanks. I guess."

"Yunno. You never asked me my name."

"That I did not."

"You gonna?"

"Nope." I said.

"This me?" She points a thumb to the couch. She looks at me like there is more to the question, like, perhaps this is the point where I other invitations could be offered.

Oh.

I swallow and pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms about them. My big bed suddenly feels ridiculously so for just me. I find myself sort of chewing on my knee with my upper row of teeth.

Her head tilts again, trying to figure me out.

"I think…" I say, quietly, "I uhm… would like to just keep things uncomplicated".

"Works for me." She says.

"I mean." I say in a strangely tiny voice. "that's you there, and this... is me."

She shrugs, her smile not leaving her face but changing subtly. Then she steps back, still unsteady on her feet, and slips beneath the blanket on the couch. A towel drops to the floor.

"G'nite Alex."

"G'nite."

I slip into the bathroom to pee. But the warm, damp air from the shower makes me decide to take one myself.

The water feels like heaven against my body, and only then it strikes me just how bone tired I am. I feel like every muscle has been tense, not just since Faith appeared, but for a while now. I take the time to lather my skin with bodywash and work each muscle as I do.

Some things never wash away. But then again, some things do.

When I return to the room, red skinned and wrinkly, Faith is asleep and breathing is slow, deep, even snores.

Though I had sex with Faith, or, I guess, she had sex with me, I never slept with her. She kicked me to the curb as soon as her orgasm subsided and the first yawn hit, not even giving me time to put my clothes on. My point is, I never slept with her. I have never seen her sleep.

She looks younger than I remember, her brows relaxed, her face not faking any expression. She looked… completely vulnerable.

I think I understand now why she never sleeps with anyone.

I slip into my own big, soft bed, but it takes a while for me to find sleep.


	17. Don't Speak

Chapter 16

Don't Speak

The pouch is large and transparent with a plastic zip. It contains a whole bunch of orange bottles filled with pills, a wedge of sachets of powdered drink supplements and some instructions. I dump it out onto the kitchen bench and begin to arrange the contents in rows so I can figure out which matches to the schedule.

Faith doesn't say anything, even if she could. She looks defeated by the situation.

I take a deep breath and pick up the little white board.

**_Stop being a pussy._**

She pulls an expression and snatches the board, writes on it, then hands it back.

**_U R the pussy_**

I think of a comeback, but they all seem to wordy. I simplify things and flip her off. She crosses her arms with a satisfied smirk. I finish sorting the meds, and push a bottle towards her. I hold up 1 finger. She slicks out her tongue, and places the pill upon it. Swallows. Winces. Shakes out her head.

She takes the board and writes.

**So U my nurse now?**

I shrug.

**_Whatevs keeps u alive_**

**Can't stay here.**

**_Why?_**

**Next kwestun.**

_**Question**. **Stay**._

**Y?**

**_Don't B a dumbass. Heal. Then U can go._**

**Y U doin this?**

**_U saved me. I save U._**

**I don't need UR help**.

**_Get over URself._**

She reads this last one and gives me a look like I have challenged her. I take the board, or try, she keep hold of it in ridiculously strong grip. I snatch the pen instead.

I write on the fridge.

**_Go if U like. Gonna order Chinese_**

She gestures for the pen. I toss it to her. She wipes the ink away with her forearm, which is already blue from all the too and fro at the hospital.

**Like 2 C U try Dumass**.

She grins and tips her head to the phone. I look at the phone and back to her. We both break into laughter. Strange, strange, silent laughter.

* * *

Faith is dozing on the couch, slipping back and forth between stubbornly fighting to stay awake and a weird twitchy, restless sleep. I nearly gave her Buffy's Sunnydale shirt to wear, but it felt somehow a sick and twisted thing to do. Instead she has an oversized Sundays tour shirt I scabbed from work and some of my boyshorts.

I walk to the Double Dragon on main street, a little way down from the cinema. The strange oppressive silence hangs in the air all around town.

Everyone woke up the same. Nobody can speak. A virus, the paper calls it. Tosh. It's magic. And my money is on Ethan Rayne being behind it. Town wide bedlam is his kind of chaos. But I keep that to myself.

Obviously.

People are walking around in a daze. Some are sobbing. The mood is strange and unsettling, and adds to my sense of inner turmoil about Faith. I can't get to the reason for my behavior, let alone ease my conscience despite all the moral questions floating around in my head sounding, like, super loud in all the eerie silence. Things like, she tried to kill me. She tried to bring about The Ascension, which would also have killed me, also hundreds if not thousands of people, but most probably me. Willow and Buffy were both on her list at various times.

I remember then she also tried to kill Angel several times too.

One of those times I egged her on. Came with her. Wanted to watch.

God, why am I like this?

No, why was I like that? That's not me, is it? Is it? I have changed. Right?

I remember the bitterness boiling in me as I played pool that night. My hatred for Angel. No. Not hatred... jealousy.

Because Angel got to have Buffy, and I got rejected. She wanted him, a vampire, an animated corpse, over me.

Shit. I was a petty, jealous, insecure little boy. I mean, to be fair, I was right- he did go evil and start killing everyone.

I shake my head at my own assery again. Angel lost his soul. It wasn't Angel, it was Angelus.

Because it wasn't me doing those horrible things, it was the Hyena spirit. If it hadn't have driven me to attacking Buffy… I would have been a murderer too. It fed off of my lust for her, my aching need for her. And I couldn't fight it.

Me hating Angel had nothing to do with him being a vampire. He had done nothing but good whilst in control of his actions. He battled his inner demon. I couldn't even battle a hyena spirit or a Bezoar thingie, for that matter.

My hands are not clean, even if they have changed shape and size. They are the same hands.

Faith hadn't lost her soul when she had turned evil. Christ, even that term "turned evil" seems bizarre now. We have all done bad things, both with and without our self control. Faith killed that deputy mayor guy by accident in the heat of battle. Buffy killed Ted out of rage, and she didn't know he was a robot. The same rules apply to Buffy apply to Faith, right? But somehow, inch by inch, we all pushed her away.

Into the arms of The Mayor.

Uhg.

By the time I got to the restaurant I had boiled down the complex situation to this:

**_U saved me. I save U._**

* * *

After that, Faith is free to walk out of Sunnydale and my life, and that will be that. Her crimes and her craziness? Not my problem. Maybe that motivation is therefore entirely self serving, but I am not her keeper. She has her own path. I have mine. And my path involved a clean break from Buffy Summers. Because I am not good around her. I am not a good person around her, and I want to be a better person than what I was. Maybe, in time, I may develop myself so I can be around my crushes without acting like a total dick. But right now I don't feel strong. I feel emotionally stunted and closed off. I feel like I need to knock down my walls and rebuild the foundations. A few patches of plaster and a coat of paint isn't enough.

I freeze as I turn to cross the street.

Buffy is walking down main street, a focused look on her face as she looks down each alley. She is dressed for battle, tight black jeans and a long blue coat that I know contains a crossbow.

I feel my heart crush and twist over as she notices me.

She freezes. I can't read her expression from here, but it doesn't matter. I spin on my heels and walk away. Clean break.

But a strong hand grabs my shoulder and spins me. She tries to say something, her cheeks flushed and I can't tell if its anger or… or…

I put my hands up, palms towards her. Enough, I try to say. I am done. I make a diagonal cutting gesture with both hands. Done. I don't want to hear it.

She releases me, eyes darting about. Her lip is quivering and she makes some kind of gesture with her hands that I have no idea what she means. She makes another.

I hold up my hands again, tears threatening to fall.

She makes a frustrated clawing gesture at the sky and steps back. Turning away but not moving.

I should go. But my feet stay put. Damn it

Damn her. I reach for my white board, only to discover that I left it at the apartment. I can't do this.

Buffy sighs silently and turns back, tears flowing from her eyes. And every part of me wants to go to her, embrace her, pull her into my arms and into me.

I hate this. I hate me. I hate how she makes me feel.

So I do what I do best. I run away.

* * *

Faith is sitting on the floor reading a graphic novel as I come through the door. She looks at me confused, then makes a sort of "and?" Shrugging gesture. I realise I am empty handed.

I slump back against the door, a position I find very familiar now- like I am holding back the monster behind the door.

Faith stands, shakily, and with some caution approaches me. Quizzically looking at my face.

I turn my head to the side as the tears start to flow. I push past her and head for the bathroom and bolt the door before the worst hits.

I am burning hot and cannot do anything but sob. I am dimly aware that at some point I have slid down the wall and balled myself up beside the toilet, but mostly I just feel my injures ribs screaming at me as thick, heavy sobs stretch them. It hurts but not as much as what's inside my chest.

A bang and the clatter of the bathroom lock hitting the tiles, and suddenly Faith is in here with me. Locks and Slayers, I forgot.

She says nothing, just stares at me with a mix of horror and uncertainty. I look away, covering my face with both my arms, fists clenched and trembling and a wave of shame rolls over me and roar in silence.

I am moving. She is pulling me onto her lap in the middle of the bathroom. I bury myself, burrowing into the dark space she offers, her arms circling me, over me, forming a shelter of sorts.

And there, in her arms, I cry myself out in that strange and empty silence.


	18. Landing Is Just Crashing Softly

Chapter 17

Landing is Just Crashing Softly

There must be change in the laundry load, as it is clanking with every revolution. I lay on my back upon my bed, with my head far back, watching it go round and around.

"It's soothing, isn't it?" Xander says, looking up from his comic. Thor. Volume 3. Number 5. "I would sit and watch it go round and round some nights. Hums me to sleep."

"I remember" I say, and sit up. His room stinks of drugstore deodorant and dust. The air is warm and oppressive from the tumbling dryer. Xander looks up, his dark eyes raking over the long, sleek curves of my naked legs and up, over his plaid red shirt that hangs loosely from my upper torso. He wears it too. But it fits him.

He catches my stare and realises what he is doing, quickly looking back down at the comic. I saw you Harris.

"We can't go out in this." I say, referring to the rain streaking past the small strip window. I stretch my legs to the ceiling and run my hands down the shiny smooth, freshly shaved skin. "I am so bored in here."

"We can always go up there." He says, and I turn my eyes to the basement stairs. The door waits, painfully unlocked and bulging with rage. Light spills violent shadows from the cracks. I know the air up there tastes of disappointment and split lips, and stinks of sour booze and crumbling seventies furniture.

I turn my eyes away but the feeling of dread crawling over me remains.

_He_ is up there. _He_ is waiting for me.

"That's not the way out." I say. Xander turns the page of the comic and snorts and cackles. Too high. Too fake. Too Hyena.

I sigh, standing and stretching out my back. My ribs creak and pop. Our shirt slides up and his eyes are drawn back to me. A grin tugs my lips, and I can't help it, I want to play. I really am bored down here.

He looks up as I put my foot onto his lap. I slide it real slow over his thigh, until I end up straddling him. He feels warm between my legs, and I feel powerful. I arch my back and wrap my arms slowly over his shoulders.

He glares back into our eyes, dark and twinkling in the dim light of the silenced TV. I have his complete attention. I have him. I have power.

"Fuck, Xander. You're hard." I say. I roll my hips and we both let out a gasp.

"We shouldn't." He says, pressing his face against my chest. "We'll go blind."

"He can't hear us down here."

The laundry goes rumble- clunk, rumble-clunk as I work him free from his pants. He seems so big in my small hands, frighteningly so. But as I work the velvet flesh up and down with an expert touch, he lets out a moan that ripples through me, chasing away the dread in my heart. I shift my hips forward and work my own heat against him, slow and slick, until the lines between our flesh is a blur.

He is through playing around and grabs my hips, his wide, strong hands drawing me down onto him.

"Shit. Fuck." I hiss. I can feel myself opening to him, easy at first, then a pinch as he widens me. He is inside now, and the pleasure swirls with pain. I hiss again, screwing my eyes tight as his insistent hand drag me downwards. It's too much, far too much. It feels like I am splitting in two.

"Fuck, you're... big." I say, "wait. Please. Slow."

He stops, thankfully, and I lean against him to shift some weight onto his muscular frame. I breathe in, and breathe out, trying to relax against the pain. Trying to accept him inside me. His hands cup my buttocks, holding me still. I breathe and slip down a little, breathe and slip some more. But I can't. It won't. I just…

There is a knock at the door that doesn't exist there usually. I can hear the wind outside scraping branches and the chant of some playground song.

I pull up, gasping as he slides out of me, and feel my limbs going slack. Xander holds me to him, his face watching me with a blank expression.

"I'm sorry." I say. He nods, and smiles in a "_hey we tried_" kinda way, but he knows what must happen next. I give the boy credit, because he takes it like a man.

I slip my fingers around his throat. And begin to squeeze. And squeeze. And squeeze.

There is a knock at the door. And the laundry clicks and powers down.

But when I look back...

* * *

I scream and Claw at the pale ghoul in the suit, flailing desperately at the grinning face and piercing eyes.

My hand is caught, so I swing the other, screaming in silence and gulping for air. But that hand is caught too. And then the shadows clear and I am staring at the moonlit door to my apartment.

Faith is holding my wrists, pinning me to the bed. I try to yelp but of course my voice is missing. I look about the room to find it empty, no maniacs in straight jackets, no creepy assed Gentlemen.

She feels me slacken and she releases me. Brushing sweat matted locks from my face. I am in my bed, tucked under the sheets, and she is kneeling beside me.

I try to talk, but no voice comes out. I want to explain, and I want to confess all the hurt and pain and shame and… and…

She strokes my cheek tenderly, a sad smile flickering to her face. A nod. _Are you okay?_ A shaky nod to reply. She pulls away from me, going to stand.

I seize her hand.

_I don't want to be alone_. And she somehow understands this. She looks down at my hand, then back to me pensive and uncertain. I release her, and turn away, hiding my face into the pillows.

But then I feel her pulling aside the cover and hold my breath. A warm body presses against my back, and I feel an arm snake over me, curling up against my chest. My hand takes hers, and pulls it in closer to me.

There is nothing sexual in this intimacy. It is not leading anywhere. It is just what it is. And what I need.

I let out a puff of silent air and settle. Faith is somewhat stiff against me at first, but eases down gradually. Her naked leg hooks into mine, spreading the warmth.

And in her arms I fall thankfully into a deep, dead and dreamless sleep.


	19. Warm, Warmer

Chapter 18

Warm, warmer

I wake in a slow unfurling. Expanding out. My limbs feel a pleasant kinda heavy, embraced by the welcoming softness of the mattress. The air comes fresh into my lungs, like life slipping into me unhindered.

I hum and lay still. No rush to be anywhere. Work is for when the sun goes down.

I know Faith is in my bed still. I can hear her breathing and feel the heat of her beating against me, even though we aren't touching. I glance over. She has one hand curled against her cheek, the other thrown over her pillow.

I want to snuggle into her warmth again, but am uncertain how the rules of intimacy apply between us. She embraced me because of my distress. Nothing more. And now in the morning light, with my emotions still rubbed raw, it feels wrong to reach out uninvited.

Also, thatta way lies complicated things. Things that, perhaps, I am still not ready to deal with. I vaguely remember my dream being weirdly sexual, but even as I say this it is erasing itself, evaporating from my mind leaving a sense of discomfort and the remains of arousal between my legs.

I look back at Faith, deep in sleep, hair mussed about her, and remember her pressing into me. I feel myself starting to become aroused again. I sit with the feeling for a change, not fighting it, not immediately distracting myself. Just… letting.

The sensation isn't really much different at all. The tightening, the little tugs, the growing, spreading yearning in my gut. Part of me twitches, sensitive of the folds around it. A stronger tugging sensation and the feeling is rising in my chest, around my lungs. My fingertips become hyper aware of the threads of the sheets, the almost powdery feel of my skin as my fingers rub against each other. That external part of me twitches again, insisting and strained. The weight of my erection is missing, the lift, lift, lift of it as the blood enters, the uncomfortable pressure of it filled to bursting. Instead that pressure occurs deeper, that wanting.

Pressing my legs together elicits a small amount of pleasure. But I ache to be touched, and that isn't satisfied by such broad friction. I…

What am I doing? Beyond the mental exercise of allowing my body to experience itself a little more I am working myself into dangerous territory. Faith is asleep beside me and, supposing she woke and turned to me and she…

_This me?_

Had that pause after been the invitation I thought it was? Faith was not remotely subtle when she propositioned me the first time. Why would she be any different with me now. Assuming she was even attracted to girls in the first place. In the time we were friends she had this flirty way of talking to everyone. But that was just Faith, just the way she approached everything. She flirted. Be it with boys, girls, danger and… well, evil.

Plus let's not forget how I was the queen of projecting. Hello Buffy Summers. Queen? King? Shit, I don't even know anymore.

I had not seen Buffy as anything but straight. Not even when she was talking sexuality with me did I even think to question hers. I just assumed. And yet, she was clearly involved with Tara. Not comfortable coming out about it, but I could see in the desperate way she pleaded her innocence that Tara meant a great, great deal to her. I am such an idiot.

And that means I officially have no gaydar. So I cannot read Faith.

Nope.

Still, knowing that Buffy is attracted to women kinda makes we rewind on all our history. Including her interactions with Willow, Cordelia, Kendra and… well, Faith. After the initial insecurity and jealousy they seemed joined at the hip. Until it exploded spectacularly.

Buffy likes girls. Had she liked Faith that way?

Pondering this has taken the edge off my mad hornies somewhat, but I am still feeling the heck out of it. That is not of the good. I take a deep breath and let my knees fall apart, trying to reduce the contact with my groin. I need to cool this crazy train way, way off.

Uhg. I am not even sure waking in the same bed as Faith is a good idea.

I get up, careful not to wake her and pad over to the kitchenette. Coffee on, toast on, and slump into my chair and put my feet on the table.

I am still a bit touchy feely, so I find myself running my hands over my legs. I have only been really intimate with Cordelia and Faith, both of whom kept their legs shaved. It felt nice. I mean, I am not exactly a gorilla, the dark hairs on my legs is softer and finer than when I was… than before, but it is noticeable. As Faith coiled her leg around mine last night I felt the roughness of my leg against hers.

I don't know why I resist the idea of feminine grooming. It's not like I will be getting my body back at any stage soon. Especially now I have alienated the people who could have helped me. I can't imagine how they would react to me knowing I am harboring Faith. Still, the long hair feels kinda nice too. Maybe I should leave it.

Benefits? A) Flaunting problematic cultural norms and gender stereotypes. B) I am lazy and I just don't wanna.

A low moan draws my attention back to Faith. But I realise the sound is not one of pleasure. She jerks, and twitches. I approach, cautiously.

"Faith?" I say, without thinking. "Faith?"

Her hair is sweaty as I brush it from her face. She doesn't look too crash hot.

"Lex?" She says, croaking and feint. "Alex?'

"Hey, you're burning up." I say, pressing my hand to her scalp. Then I realise I can talk. Somehow that doesn't feel important right now. I fetch Faith's antibiotics, and whatever the heck the doc tacked on and slip them to her with a mug of juice.

"Feel like crap" she croaks.

"S'okay, we got nowhere to be." I say. "Just sleep."

"She's in there." She whispers, scrunching her clammy brow. "She's… I'm..." and then she trails off.

Whilst I eat breakfast, I go over the instructions the doctor left me again and again. What worries me is that I know that Slayers are different to us. Buffy needs horse sized tranquilizers to soften her pain, and the girl can shake off diseases that would drop an elephant.

Faith's immune system has been compromised by her coma. So whatever is keeping her Slayer healing from fighting this off may just be a regular human kind of infection. Fingers crossed, the antibiotic should help her beat that. But what if it doesn't?

Giles would know. But calling Giles would mean turning Faith in to the Watcher's Council. Or putting her into the path of a pissed off Buffy.

I look back at the girl, tossing and turning in my bed. Her face is ashen, eyes sunken and red. Turn her in, or let her die? I didn't want to make that call. I just hoped she would recover.

I get to the ziplock and shake out Faiths next dosage, throw a straw and an electrolyte tablet into a fresh bottle of water and mix up a mug of protein supplement.

"'Lex?" Faith mumbles as I put the tray down next to her.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here." She is clammy to the touch, with dry flecks around her lips. I guide her up to a half sitting position, and slip the straw into her mouth. She takes in half the bottle. I offer the pills but she sorta fumbles vaguely at them, so I put each to her lips one by one. "That's it. You got it."

"You know…" she said. "Done some dumb ass things in my time." She says as I ease her back on the pillow. "Lot of shit I regret."

"I'm not a priest." I say.

"You just pour the drinks. I know." She whispers with a smile. Her eyes open a little, pink and glossy. "But yunno what I don't regret?"

"What?"

"Going back to save your dumb ass."

"Well, there's still time." I smile, and brush her hair back from her face.


	20. Juiced

Chapter 19

Juiced

Faith murmurs something vaguely dismissive as I tell her that I have to go to work. I leave supplies beside the bed, and check her temperature with the thermometer I grabbed along with some extra groceries. It's a high fever, technically, but I adjust that in mind for Slayers- Buffy always ran way hot- so I bite my lip and call it safe.

This is like paddling someone else's life around the deep end, but I don't know who I can turn to take the oar.

Okay. Fine. Go Lexi. Out the door. She will be okay. Stop staring at her, fretting, like a freak and just go to work. She will be okay for a few hours.

Shit.

Okay.

Out the door I go.

Shit.

Maggie Mott is sitting at the bar counting out the float for the tills when I arrive. I drop my satchel in its usual spot and wash my hands.

"You're late." She says, not looking up.

"I'm five minutes early." I say.

"Precisely. You usually show that ridiculously pretty yet eternally scowling face at least half an hour ahead of time. Not that I mind free labour. I am just marking the change." She says. Then she looks up at me and tips her glasses down. "So?"

"So what?"

"Darling girl, this is the part where you either tell me your woes, or, you blush and I have to wring out of you the hopefully scandalous tale of your new lover. I do hope it's the latter, and it is juicy."

"No…. No juice." I say, a little quickly. "No juices involved whatsoever."

(Glare)

"What? What? I am single. A single, free girl just enjoying the giddy life of singledom."

"It's your complete lack of enjoying your singledom that concerns me."

"I'm fine. I am good."

"Alex, I watched you carefully and painstakingly peel the entire label off a bottle on Sunday."

"Ahhh, good times." I reminisce, then set to work prepping the limes.

But of course my mind wanders back to girl in my bed. And that meanders into the night before, of a warm, strong arm around me and, okay, maybe it side steps into thoughts about the smoosh of boobs against my back and that sneaks over into the tussled hair Faith looking all adorable territory.

"There!" Maggie declares, jabbing a roll of coins towards me like some capitalist wand "I see that smile, Alexandra Hart. So? Spill. Who is the lucky girl?"

"Nobody. Also, excuse you. It could be a boy. You don't know."

"The way you dress?" She says. Glares are shared, but mine is half assed.

"Okay. Fair. But I am not seeing anyone. Girl or otherwise."

"It's that pretty blonde who always comes in here, the one you pretend you don't give free drinks to." She says, as she fills the tills.

"A world of no. And those are not free drinks. She sorts out our "wild dogs" problem now and again. Ask Big Carl. And you're wrong." Maggie looks unconvinced. I start hacking into a fresh lemon. "Besides, we had a falling out. I doubt we will be seeing her again any time soon."

At least, I hoped we wouldn't be seeing her any time soon.

Sandy blasts through the doors, bolt upright, fists clenched at her sides, tears streaming down her face.

"All men are bastards!" She wails dramatically, then heads straight for the toilets and disappears inside. Maggie's face lights up. She gets up and gives me a wink.

"Ah, some juice, at last!" She exclaims and goes to see what all the fuss is about.

It's close to midnight and the bar is busy as hell. The Dandy Warhols have brought in quite the crowd, somehow lots of out of towners got word of the unadvertised gig and we all have been struggling to keep up. I was so worried about Faith that I rushed getting ready and completely forgot my ear plugs. The PA is cranked and all the cacophony has thumped me into lipreading orders only.

But as I pour a row of five, Sandy pulls me in and yells something into my ear that I don't quite catch. She thumps me when I ignore her, and points to the alley door. She looks happy and excited, but I can't see what she is pointing to. So I assume she needs a break and just nod and go back to what I am doing.

"Twenty" I yell to the guy and take his money, glancing over to the door I see Sandy embracing a girl and jumping up and down. I roll the jumble of sounds she yelled at me over in my head as I till the cash and somewhere deep a bell sounds.

An alarm bell.

She said something that sounded like Casey K.

When I snap my eyes back to the door, she is being led outside and I just explode with goosebumps. She said Casey K. She said…

I don't think, I scramble over the bar, and half jump, half surf down the cheering guys who catch me, it's not gracious but it gets me closer.

"Outta the way!" I scream, weaving hard and pushing harder. I slam full bodied into the door bar and ram through.

After that, I am not quite sure of the details. I remember advancing on the two figures grabbing a terrified Sandy. The flash of vampiric faces, and the hiss as one turned to me.

He was big, but I seized his hair and with both feet off the ground I sent his face smashing so hard down into the trash can it crumpled. A roar and a blur, and dull thuds.

When I trained at Gile's I saw Spike's face in every punchbag. I saw his eyes behind each and every strike. It is his dark smile I see when my muscles burn and beg me to stop, and that smile makes me punch on and on all the harder.

I hit hard, I hit fast and I hit like someone else's life depended on it.

And there I am, in an alley, legs spread wide in a fighting stance, my stake tight in my fist, breathing hard and dripping crimson from my nose.

And Sandy lays beneath me on her back where she fell, wide eyed and open mouthed, as plumes of screaming dust whirl about her and rain down like grim snow.

I hardly believe it is over. I dart my eyes about, expecting the blow that knocks me down, that shatters my arm, that reminds me that I am just some joke to them. My muscles quiver with adrenaline.

There is a crowd, probably 10 or so people, ripped from smoking and joking by the drama. Some are looking around trying to figure out what just happened, some slack jawed, one… just one is shying away, trying to blend into the crowd.

The thing with Casey K's face realises she has been busted and sprints. But I am fit, and I don't care that my leg is burning or my ribs hurt, I give chase and run her down before the alley ends and the street begins. I bodily drag her behind the dumpster out of view and down into the gutter.

"Wait, Alex wait. It's me, your friend."

"Yeah. Casey K. That's why I am doing this."

I watch the body crumble to dust, taking my stake with it. I stagger back, acutely aware of the pain now.

The small gathering parts as I limp to the door. Watching me with a mix of confusion and uncertainty.

"Don't do… yunno… drugs or whatever." I read the room. "Aw forget it, we all know you will."

A concerned Maggie Mott is waiting for me at the door, a weeping Sandra pressed to her chest.

"So, about that pay rise." I say as I limp past.

* * *

I sneak into the apartment on tip toe, like some burglar in a silent movie. But Faith is out cold, so dead to the world I panic and rush to check her pulse.

She's hanging in there, her pulse is so strong it could accompany a band. I flop back on my knees and catch up on some good old breathing.

I was so high on adrenaline that I finished the night without Sandy and kept up. Maggie took her to the hospital to get her shock treated. Of course, the next time I see Sandy she will be older and wiser, or that will be the last I see of her once she knows Sunnydale is where what goes bump in the night likes to party.

Soooo everything now takes the opportunity to catch up with me as I slide the med kid out and begin assessing the damage.

Nose isn't broken, but it's packed with clotted black blood. My elbow is scraped up pretty bad and my knuckles raw on both hands. So it's painkillers and ointment and a pretty row of little round band aids for me. Much hissing and sucking of breath was had.

"Jesus, rowdy crowd tonight?" Faith says, her voice raspier than usual. She is propped up on the doorframe, clearly using it as a crutch. She still looks awful, the bathroom light making her seem a sickly ghost with pink, bruised eyes.

"Something like that." I grumble, failing terribly at applying antiseptic to my elbow. "Bunch of fangs tried to eat my college."

"How many?"

"Three."

"Where?" She pushes off the wall.

"Dust bin." I said. "And even if I hadn't taken care of it, you think I would let you out of here this weak to fight vamps?"

"You think you could stop me?" She said, folding her arms. A memory twinges hard in the back of my head, and I clamp my jaw shut. Faith lets a huge sigh go, and then comes to my aid. Taking the yellow stained rag and daubing it on my wound. "Dressing?" I hand it to her. "No, bigger, you scraped up the back real good too."

I rummage around and she takes the offered dressing. She isn't gentle, but she is quick.

"Tape." She says. And a few moments later I am flexing my arm, testing her work.

"That's… huh." I said. "Great work."

"Yeah, well, got the living shit kicked out of me a lot as a kid. Got a lot of practice. But I suspect you know that song too."

"I do indeed. But I will spare you my singing voice, I have no idea how to patch up bleeding ears." I smile. She smiles with me.

"Well, we both got to the end of that particular song, so I have no interest in singin' it again anyways." She says, and coughs.

"Amen to that." I wince as I swing myself down from the counter top. The med kit clean up is a problem for future Lexi.

"Why are you not in bed?" I say, softly.

"I gotta fucking pee." She says. "I mean, I can do it here or back in-"

"Do not pee in my bed." I say, stepping out of the bathroom. "Life saving deal is off if you are not housebroken."

I can hear her chuckling as I close the door.

"So you bagged three vamps?" She says, as the sound of gushing happens.

I blink and shake myself. Guys, well, it's a hard rule you do NOT talk to each other in bathrooms. Unless, you know, you are very, very and I must stress, very drunk and being funny. I am still freaked by girls opening up dialogue whilst copping a squat in the stall next to me. But that little culture shock is on me. I gotta deal, and Faith gotta pee.

"Yeah, it was… I have no idea how I managed it actually. I mean, I have been training my ass off."

"Vamp bite got you freaked? Understandable." I hear tissue and a flush. "All at once?"

"Two and then one. Though she didn't put up a fight." Taps. Thank god she washes her hands, I held that hand last night. So

Speaking of.

"Hey, uh, Faith, you take the bed tonight. I will take the couch."

The door slides back a little juddery, clearly she still really weak. She is using the wall to support her, and she looks a little dizzy. She also looks confused.

"Okay." She says. I offer my arm to give her support and she bats it away. She reaches the bed by hand-over-handing on the walls. Clumsy as hell, but she gets there.

I settle in on the couch. It's not designed to double as a bed, to be honest, but it's the best couch I could find by the side of the road that required minimal fumigation. I punch the pillow to get it into shape and swear loudly as my skinned knuckles remind me that I am a fucking idiot.

"You okay up there?"

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

I do my best to nestle in. If I keep still and don't turn, I may have a fighting chance at sleep.

"Lex?" She says, after a few minutes of silence. Her voice is weak and has a quality I haven't heard before in Faith's voice. Uncertainty.

"Yeah."

"My name's Abigail." She says.

I digest this for a minute, uncertain what to say. It's a lie, of course, but I didn't know what I expected. Honesty? From Faith? The girl who played us all for fools over what, exactly? I really am an idiot. I swallow back a shaky breath.

"Hey." I say. "Hard rule. No lies between us. But secrets are fine. Okay?"

"Works for me." She says. Then silence for a while.

"Good night Abigail."

Silence.

"Did I… I mean… last night. Did I make you uncomfortable or some shit?"

"No." I say. "Not at all."

"S'just… it was nice. Didn't ya think it was nice?"

"I did."

"It's a big bed." She says.

"It's a shit couch."

And I can't help myself, because as much as her lie stung me, snuggling into her welcoming arms just made my already bizarre night. But the lie kept that little crack of distance between her and I. And maybe that was the wake up call I needed as I fell asleep curled into her warmth.

"Nite Lex."

"Nite."


	21. Abigail Shmabigail

Chapter 20

Abigail Shmabigail

"This dream sequence is a little cliche, don't you think?" I yell. "And kinda meta."

The forest around me isn't made of wood, it's made of faceted, polished mirrors. I see an infinite amount of reflections of me looking this way and that. The floor is thick with flakey ash that I wade through, ankle deep. I am alone, except for my reflections.

My dress is nice though, I think my subconscious may have borrowed it.

"This is, like, totally Mia Sara's Darkness gown from the film 'Legend'." I shout, my voice echoing through the shimmering trees out into the darkness. "I mean… don't get me wrong, I look great in this, thanks, but I ask you, is it really worth the legal action from Ridley Scott?"

The echoes bounce around and settle in silence.

"Ah haha ha, I see. Some of the reflections are me as a girl and me as a guy. Very clever. Not."

Again, nothing.

"It's heavy handed, even by Freudian standards."

I spin around, kicking at the ash.

"Look, is the monster that represents my fears and anxieties gonna show up soon? It's kinda boring here."

I wait for bit, shrug, and then wander over to one or the trees, muttering about how I would prefer the one about being naked in front of the whole class.

This mirror has me as a boy. Looks a bit ridiculous in the dress. And this one has me as a girl. I finger gun the girl for looking great. I mean she does. I do. Give the girl props. She looks comfy and confident, whereas Xander just looks… oh. Oh. I get it.

"I get it." I shout. "I got it. This is me, getting it. All with the getting here."

I look around at the infinite mirror forest.

"Can I wake up now? I am worried about Faith. Sorry… "Abigail"" I say, giving air quotes.

There is a blood curdling snarl behind me. I turn, look down and let out a sigh.

"Oh, there you are."

* * *

The sun is painfully bright on my eyes. But Faith is lying close beside me,

She is parallel to me, pretty much mirroring my position. She is awake, and peacefully watching me.

The sunlight is raking across her face, striking one of her brown eyes, making a small patch glow glow amber. She blinks slow, so at ease and I watch as her eye adjusts, the patterns in her cornea tightening in little waves and folds of chestnut.

We aren't touching. We are just awake, aware, looking at each other. We just are here, in this time and place, together. Her skin is rosier today, the bruises under her eyes have lost their hard edges, retreating, healing. As she begins to smile, she exhales, and it caresses the fine hairs on my cheek. My smile follows behind hers, how could it not?

The change is subtle, her lips part slightly and her smile bleeds away, leaving questioning. I draw my lower lip into my mouth, a bite of uncertainty turns to wetting it in anticipation. A silent invitation, and she moves to press her lips to mine.

The first kiss feels tender, the second and third feel inevitable in the delicious wake of the first. But the fourth, well, something sets into my chest that makes the fifth absolutely essential to my being.

I have my hand to her cheek, drawing her to me, drawing me to her, wanting and desperate. Her hand feels perfect against the exposed flesh of my lower back, strong, insistent, pulling us closer. Our kissing has a tide to it, sliding back and forth between her need and mine, not yielding control or demanding it, for we both seem to want the same thing, the same space, the same proximity.

I am expecting the sudden switch, for her to grow greedy, push me back into the bed and pin me down with her legs. But instead, the kissing just flows, and rolls, ebbing, slowing and then in a tender parting of lips, ends.

Her cheeks are flushed rose in two distinct patches, lips swollen, pupils blown wide. And she is beautiful. And I feel beautiful in her gaze.

"So." She says, a little louder than a whisper. "That happened."

"You are looking so much better."

She pulls back a little, shifting onto her elbows. Her face still comfortably close to mine. And I find myself wanting… something that, perhaps, is going to leave me broken again. I try to banish it away, a feat I manage with a single name.

_Abigail_.

"What?" She says, in that whiskey voice. She angles her head around, as if to peer into my brain. "What was that change?"

I sigh, and roll onto my back. My ribs complain a little, my elbow complains a lot.

"It's nothing." I say.

"No lies between us. That's the deal, remember?"

"But secrets are fine." I repeat.

"Secrets are a must." She says and shrugs. "Way it's gotta be."

"Okay. Do over. I lied that it's nothing."

Obviously, says her brow. She nestles her chin onto her hand.

"And?"

"That's the only lie. Not a biggie as lies go." I said. "Is your name really Abigail?"

"Fraid so." She says. "But I hate it."

"So change it. Pick another."

"But that would be a lie. I wanted to tell you my name. It's Abigail."

I look up at the ceiling and blow out a frustrated breath. Frustrated at her or me, I don't quite know. Both perhaps. Faith lays her head so that her cheek against my exposed belly. She looks up at me.

"I haven't told anyone that in… I guess well over a year." She mumbles into my skin. She plants a kiss there, and sighs. "I hate it. It's… the name of a girl who was… a victim."

I swallow and shift, curious now. Her face is blank, she is looking away, I guess she is looking back. Her eyes dart to me and she shrugs a little.

"Shit happened, and I had to get out of Boston. Hiked. Hopped freights. Begged... Stole… but I got here. Anyways, I realised coming to Sunnydale I could be whatever I wanted. Start again. Yunno?"

I did.

"So, I figure. Leave Abigail behind. Leave her there. Walk out of her like… you ever seen a snake shed, Lexi?"

I have.

"Like that. Just like that. They look all shiny and new, and then they get bigger, stronger."

She is playing with the hem of my shirt as talks. Brushing the fabric against her lip with her thumb.

"I couldn't think of a new name, a good name. So I just went with my middle one. So, not so much a new girl. Just… shuffled a bit, I guess."

"What's your middle name?"

"No fair. I get a question first."

"Okay. But the deal stands. You have secrets, I have secrets. No harm no foul if I don't wanna answer."

"But if you do, it's the truth."

"Okay."

"Well alright." She says. Then just falls quiet, staring at me. It makes me blush and chuckle, but I hold myself together.

"Shut up. I can't think of a question" She says. "I mean, I don't want to waste it."

"Okay, bookmark it. What's your middle name."

"Don't laugh."

"Scouts honour." I say, and she side eyes me. Ironically, that fits our agreement too, but I am keeping that in the secrets basket.

"It's Faith." She sighs.

I had expected a lie. I had expected a lie that would veer my hearts trajectory away from the girl in front of me. A lie would have helped.

A lie would be easier.

"You okay?"

"No fair. I get a question." I deflect, nicely, I might add.

"Fine. Rules stand."

"Rules stand." I grin. "You gonna bail on me?"

"You mean, before I get well? Or after?" I shrug. Either or.

"Undecided." She says. "Was gonna. No offense, people suck. I didn't know if I could trust ya."

"What changed?" I said and was rewarded with a goofy grin. She pulls her smile tight and clears her throat.

"Got horny." She says with a stretch and a bit of a yawn. "And that was my turn."

"Figures you were just banking them till your brain caught up." She twaps my arm.

"Did you bring me back here because you wanted to fuck me?"

"No." I said.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

"That's a complicated question." I say. "And I haven't had coffee yet."

"Why complicated? You either wanna or not." She says, watching me as I stand up and stretch. The coffee was not a deflection, but a necessity. Faith remains in my bed, watching me.

"It's complicated." I say, spooning grounds into the filter. "Because, well, lots of reasons." Lid down. Button pressed.

Faith has made her way over, still unsteady, I notice, and she pretty much collides with the wall rather than leans on it. She folds her arms, then unfolds them, then scratches her tattoo.

"Lex, I am just tryna figure you out. I mean, you are real sweet and all helping me, but you are a whole mess of mixed signals and I don't wanna fuck this up."

"Gotcha. And that's great and all, but it doesn't make it any less complicated. Also your signals are pretty mixed."

"Message coming through Five by five."

"What does that even mean?" I say exasperated.

"Yunno the radio thing? Five volume, five signal. Like… loud and clear. Five by five. S'all good." She scrunches her nose. "You ain't heard that saying"

"Huh." I say. "The point is… wait, do I call you Faith or Abigail or…"

"Faith." She says. "I guess."

"Okay, so the point is this is driving me crazy because now you are backing off and I really, really don't want that. But I have… like… mega body issues and I am vulnerable and paranoid and antisocial you are just not who I thought you were and everything is gonna lowside and I am gonna panic and breaks will be hit and then everything will just spin over and over and over and… then I will have to limp all the way to wherever the emotional equivalent of Santaquin is and… uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhgggggggggggg"

We both stare in silence as the coffee pot does it's thing.

"So." Faith says with a little smirk. "That's a yes then?"


	22. The One Where Sex Might Happen

Chapter 21

The One Where Sex Might Happen

_(But Doesn't)_

Faith pulls this little face when she takes her pills that, I can't help it, makes me smile. Perhaps the fact it feels like every pill she takes is the teensiest little victory for me adds to the pleasure that gives me, who knows?

But smile I do, and do so behind the relative safety of my mug of coffee.

She takes a wary spoonful of cereal. It seems to get the tick of approval. It's the first solidish food she has eaten for a few days, and the first I have actually witnessed her eat since she reappeared from her coma. Who knows what she was eating before she staggered into my bar?

She chews slow and mechanically, then stops and looks up.

"Somethin' amusing you, your highness?"

"Mmm hmmm." I sip my coffee. She smirks, then returns to chewing. "Man, I feel like a construction truck took a dump on me."

"Question." I say. "Honest answer."

"That's the deal. Honest or silent."

"Scale of one to ten. How well do you feel?"

"Nine point five" She says. I stare dubiously. "But see, this bitch usually goes all the way up to fifty, baby." She leans on her elbow and sighs. "I hate this. I hate feeling weak. It's not… I don't want to be weak again. I was done with weak."

"It's temporary."

"But what if it ain't?" Say says, clearly distressed. "Lex, what if… like… it's like… brain damage or nerve damage of somethin' like that? I need to be strong. I have to be."

She looks down at what she is doing, which, is jabbing the end of the spoon at the table. Her face is flushed and tears are coming to her eyes. I don't see any fall, because I am kneeling beside her chair in an instant, holding her to my chest as she lets out a cry and loudly gasps in air. No, I don't see her tears, but I feel them in her shakes.

There are words, but they are lost in her grief. I hear vague things in the sounds, things like "she" and "over and over", and "he's gone." and "nobody ever". But I give up on finding a meaning in all of it. I just know she is terrified, and that is enough.

"Nothin' is in control and nothin' you do matters." She whimpers. "I hate this. I hate them." I hold her until the storm in her subsides, until she turns and hooks her arms around my shoulders and buries her face into me and cries herself out.

I don't like people seeing me cry, so I assume the same of her. Because it is a weakness in my eyes. And Faith hates to feel weak.

* * *

She is sleeping now. Fitful and pained. I see her brow scrunch and I soothe it away with my fingers. I moved us back to the bed an hour ago, but she has only been asleep for the past fifteen or so minutes. She stared off into space, running images over in her mind aimnd shaking her head at them, denying them or denouncing them. But she didn't speak. The sleep seems little mercy to me. Whatever haunts her does so in there too. I have some ideas of what, or who, but honestly? What do I know of Faith, really. I barely know myself.

I ease myself off the bed, and go to the bathroom. Flipping the seat lid, I sit down and sigh as the swift stream comes out of me, yawning and rolling my neck.

I muse on when this wasn't natural for me, and wonder when exactly it became so. I mean, there was a period where I would rock up to the toilet bowl and stand there, eye bleary with sleep, reaching for something that was no longer there, then rapidly cycle through confusion, disorientation, frustration and then self chastising. Oh, then peeing. I got there eventually.

I mean, there must have been a moment when it clicked over in my brain. The past months have been a blur of denial and avoidance, but, I guess, I have been moving slowly towards… somewhere. Or someone.

Faith calls me Lexi. And the weird thing is have started to call myself that too. Alexandra and Alex have been psuedothingies… nom be prunes or… oh, aliases. A twist on my former name, but not my name, not me.

I think of the dumb dream I had and the belaboured point. I had referred to Xander as just that… Xander, another person.

I am not Xander. Not anymore. I am Lexi now. I am happier being Lexi than I ever was as Xander, and I have a feeling I have only just begun exploring what that means. And, like does that mean, in some ways, kinda sorta, that I was always Lexi?

Either way it has ruined reruns of Legend, that's for sure.

Mega body issues? Maybe I just have a major brain issue.

Okay Lexi. List? Tissue, wipe front to back), flush, shower, wash up the dishes, denial, deal with problematic growing feelings for yet another Slayer, and hopefully, a solid night of distracting work without any fights to the death. Easy.

Shit.

Okay. New list.

Flush, Shower, go buy toilet paper…

* * *

Main Street isn't busy today, a few folk hurriedly going about their day. I notice the fall has really taken a hold, and that one tree by the coffee store has turned a vibrant rusty gold.

I have a jumbo pack of T.P under one arm as I stand, gazing into the window of this clothing shop I must have walked past a thousand times but never noticed. The clothing is all on the goth side, heavy on leather pants and big boots. Huh. I always wondered where the vampires got all that stuff from. I also note the wood panel taped up over the broken corner of the window and am starting to figure out how Faith got her clothes too.

I can't help but wonder what vampire Lexi would look like. It isn't hard, to be honest, extrapolating what I know of vamp Willow and vamp Jessie. She would be dressed in that outfit there; the one on the back, second in from the… oh, sorry, it's sort of a black blouse with a plunging v that goes… and now I am back to thinking about Mia Sara again.

And then my thoughts turn, as they oft do of late, to Faith. A vampire Faith would be, well, exactly the same as she was. Of all of us, the leap for her would only mean a minor change in dentistry. She already has these adorable little points to her canines that…

I growl at myself.

Sush, Penfold. I know how far gone I am. My doom is inevitable.

Maybe Vampire Lexi should take the wheel after all. At least she would be confident enough to wear that. Oooh, and maybe that one too. And pair it with… oh.

Faith will need some new clothes when she goes. And she will go. And I am certain that, as brave a face as I can put on it, it's just gonna destroy me.

_U saved me. I save U._

That's where the story ends. Faith goes and Lexi remains.

Alone.


	23. Under The Sofa In Hell

Chapter 22

Under The Sofa In Hell

My instinct as I walk past Anya is to hide my face and keep walking. And I do. She doesn't react as I go past, so it is a scott free kind of deal. Whoever that scott guy is, he doesn't have to deal with any guilt. Lucky bastard.

Anya even glanced at me, but didn't so much as blink. So on I go.

Wait.

No. I am not that person anymore.

"Anya." I call after her. "Hold up".

She turns on her heels, straight back, elbows locked, clutching a small paper deli bag to her lap. She smiles at me that blank way clerks who hate their life do to customers when their boss is watching.

She has changed too. She wears her hair shorter these days and curled into a retro 1930's kind of deal. It's a rich golden, brassy sort of color that looks just fantastic on her. Her nose is pierced with a fine silver ring, and her clothes have moved beyond Cordette light to a more rock and roll sort of vibe. Wide flared navy pants with two rows of three buttons that fasten in just below her breasts, a short black sleeved gas station shirt. And she looks… well… amazing.

"Can I help you miss? Preferably in less time than it takes for a sandwich to get intolerably soggy?"

"We met. At Sunnydale University? I was sitting with Willow? You were looking for Xander? Xander Harris."

"Oh yes, I remember. Hi. Hello." She says overly brightly and then looks at me expectantly.

"Look, I need to say some stuff to you. And, it's probably gonna run a little longer than sandwich integrity, so, can I like, buy you lunch at the diner?"

"Like a date?"

"I mean, like- "

"Because you should know I am currently engaged in a healthy, loving and extremely satisfying sexual relationship."

"No, it's-"

"Not that you aren't very attractive. A little short perhaps."

"No, no, not a date. It's about Xander. Also, I kind of owe you an apology." She looks confused, so I tack on. "And as it is a big apology you can order anything you like off the menu."

"Anything?"

"Yes."

She looks at her bagged lunch and back to me.

"Is this a rouse?"

"Explanation. Apology. Free food. That's it. Then you never have to speak to me ever again."

"Way to sweeten the deal." She says brightly, and this time it is genuine. "Lead on."

* * *

The diner isn't very busy, which is normal considering the food they serve here. It's a garish retro American Graffiti kind of deal, in which Anya looks, surprisingly suitably dressed for. I find us a booth away from prying ears.

"So, can I like ask why you were looking for Xander?"

Anya is buried in the menu, and doesn't look up.

"I wanted to have sex with him."

"Oh." I say, processing. "What?"

"Sex. You understand sex, right?"

"I meant 'why?'"

"Well, you should be more specific. it's confusing." The menu goes down and she looks at me, chewing on her lip. Then she says "Have you ever gotten someone stuck in your head?"

"Ooooooh yeah, big time." I say. a couple of names come to mind. Both good with a pointy stick.

"Well. After the prom, we went to prom together, afterwards I was like. Great, now that's done I can forget about him. Get on with figuring this whole mortal girl business I-" she freezes and looks at me wide eyed.

"It's okay, if it helps, I know you used to be a vengeance demon."

"Oh, that does indeed help considerably. I find myself having to explain my behaviour a lot to people. Usually when they are very angry at me for some reason. It's hard to tell them I recently mortal and have no idea how anything works." She turns to the approaching waitress "how long do the burgers last, in the refrigerator? Without decaying to the point of being unpleasant tasting when you reheat them?"

The waitress, a girl about our age who should audition for Rizzo in Grease because she would just nail it, scratches her head with a pencil.

"Three days? Maybe. The lettuce would get kinda manky though".

"I shall take three burgers to go please. Hold the lettuce. She is paying. And a chocolate shake, whatever is biggest and therefore most expensive."

I… okay, whoah, factoring in "recently human" here and…

Crow is not on the menu, so… "Turkey on rye for me. Make that two, wrap one to go." Cut rate Rizzo nods and leaves us, and the stage to me.

"So, as I was saying I wanted to have sex with Xander to get him out of my system."

"Does that even work?"

"Screwed if I know." She says. "But as it turns out, having sex with someone else does the trick just fine. So I am all good."

"So, you aren't mad at Xander?"

"Why would I be?" She shakes her head, confused. "Should I be?"

"So, you didn't like, and no judgement here, but… oh I don't know, cast a spell on him to turn him into a girl?"

"Ahhh, the classics. I did enjoy inflicting that one on deserving males." She says. The waitress places her shake down, and Anya gives a little excited clap over the beverage. "Not as good as just making their penis fall off or turn into an angry snake, of course."

"So you didn't?"

She takes a long, long suck of her shake, staring at me. I wait. She holds a finger up and swallows.

"No." She says. "Why?"

"Because I am Xander." I confess. "And before you say anything, not calling you after the prom was a totally, totally shitty thing and I really am sorry. I own it, I was a jerkazoid. An emotionally stunted man boy with zero ability to say that, though I thought you were, just breathtakingly good looking, that I was in love with someone and only said yes as a runner up deal, and again, that is also a shitty, shitty thing. So… uh… sorry."

She doesn't react, she just looks at me whilst she takes another, long, long drink from her shake. I wait. Again.

"You are much more attractive as a girl." She says. "Also you don't look as mentally deficient." She starts casually unwrapping her deli sandwich.

"Well thank you. I think." I say. She nods and takes a bite of what looks like a roast beef sub. "Oh, and if it means anything ontop that huge trashfire of an apology, I am sorry I lied to about being Xander's sister."

"Half sister." She says. "But you know, it's not a curse that is affecting you anyway."

This hits me like the punch I was expecting. I shift, awkwardly and swallow what feels like a lead weight. Not that I go around swallowing lead weights, mind you. I am not completely without imagination you know.

"Anya. Do you know what did this to me?"

"No, but I suspect it is divine in origin. Lower circle. Probably an Invocation of Geminora or something crass like that. I mean, finding out is trivial enough, I just need a Thorn Of Winter. And we have a whole shipment of those back at The Magic Box." She lifts her sandwich to her lips. "That someone who was definately not me was stupid enough to put 1000 on the order instead of 100." Nervous look. Smile. Bite. Chew.

"And here you go." Budget Stockard Channing says, with a tray full of food.

"Uh, if you don't mind." I say to her. "Can I get mine to go too?"

Anya looks at me innocently as she sucks down at the noisy end of her shake.


	24. Out Of The Box

Chapter 23

Out of The Box

The Magic Box isn't how I remember it, but then, every time I have ever set foot in the place it has been rebuilt or remodelled after something horrific has happened there. Having the unfortunate owner meet a grizzly end is bordering on a yearly town custom at this stage.

This time around it feels more spacious. This season's style has the counter on the far right and a large reading table area on the left. I walk past the now familiar mix of freaky hoodoo, spooky doodads and jumbles of mumbo.

"Sit." Anya points at the large round table piled with various magic books. I do so, and am immediately assaulted by that dusty rich tannin particular to ye olde works of forbidden lore. A scent that I strongly associate with highschool. And boredom.

I evaluate the nearest mystical tome to me the only way I know how. I press my hand down on it to ascertain how good a pillow it would make. This one is not bad.

I remember when I got caught napping on such a book as this the night Oz got out. That was when Faith was on our side. But of course, Faith never was on our side. She was just on hers. Just trying to shed that skin and become.

A snake shedding its skin is still a snake.

Faith fought Oz once. In hand to hand with nothing but a leather sleeve between her and the snapping, drooling jaws of death. A little nip was all it would take to curse her forever to be just like him. Man, imagine willingly running towards a werewolf like that? Why did she do that? For Oz? For duty? Because it was her nature?

Did she do it because of a deathwish?

I lift the book to my face and give it just a little sniff. Oz was a scooby once. The most Doo of the Scoobies. Then suddenly he wasn't. I was a Scooby. Then suddenly, I wasn't. Faith never really was a Scooby, we never really let her. And I don't know why.

Maybe The Scoobies will become an ever changing line up. The Fleetwood Mac of paranormal investigators. Now that Buffy has proven that Slayers need a team of friends to be successful, will all Slayers be assigned a Scooby Gang? Going on and on down the line until nobody knows why they got the name Scoobies? Will I even be a footnote in that history?

As I put down the book, a lump in my throat rises. I miss Giles and Oz and Willow. It's a shame how it had to end. But it had to. And it had to because of who I was.

"Xander" Giles voice comes from a memory, soft and fatherly, and ridiculously British. "Well this is a pleasant surprise." I look up to see the man himself, standing behind the counter, mug of tea in hand.

"Giles?"

The tea goes down on the counter, and we walks over to me. I stand and offer a hug, he offers a handshake. I offer a handshake, he offers a hug. We end up in a weird and awkward compromise between hug and shake. A 'shaug' or perhaps a 'huake'.

"Would you, perhaps, like some tea?

"You work here now?" I say.

"I am the, eh, proprietor." He says, glancing around warmly at the space.

"Co-owner." Anya says, returning sans burgers but with a small box, which she is peeling the plastic off. "You are paying for this too, I assume."

"Anya, you know Xander, right?" He says, reaching across the counter for his tea.

"We went to prom." She says. "Back when his ears stuck out and he was a cheapskate. Also when he had much smaller breasts. Aha." She peels away the plastic victoriously. "This was so much easier when I had long fingernails, but Willow complained every time we had sex, so…"

Giles spits his tea back into the mug and I am doing the same with air.

"Wait, you and Willow?" I manage, sounding like, well picture a female Marty Mcfly saying "you built a time machine?" and you're close. Anya nods eagerly.

"Willow. Willow Rosenberg." I say. Another nod. She opens the tiny box and Mary Poppins what Incan only describe as an huge fucking stiletto dagger out of it. It turns glassy as she approaches. "See Rupert, still fresh. I told you but noooo."

"Back up there on two points. One, where the hell are you gonna stick that thing? And two, Willow Rosenberg?"

"Giles. I think he is broken."

"Yes, well, I must say your reaction is rather similar to mine on the subject of Willow's… er… sudden shift in taste." Giles mutters and takes another mouthful of tea. A mistake.

"Oh, Willow tastes just fine." Anya says. Giles grips his nose and winces, having to silently excuse himself from the room as he goes to wash off the snorted tea.

The shopbell sounds and the girl in question saunters merrily in and it takes me about three seconds to go from 'wha?' to 'awww' as I see everything in how her eager smile positively becomes incandescent when she locks eyes on Anya.

And Willow looks like… like… my Willow again. Her face plump with a smile and eyes glittering and bright. Her short hair flicks up and is a rich, vibrant red, and she wears a small ring choker that makes her neck seem longer and more graceful. Her clothes are much more grown up, stylish and form fitting. I love Willow, but she did always look like an op shop had exploded nearby.

Willow hovers, aware that Anya is serving a customer, and after shooting her a smile, focuses on some knickknacks on the wall to pass the time.

As for me, my insides are spinning up a whirligig of emotions, which are summed up by the choking sob that issues from my mouth. Willow turns and now her eyes light up for me. This time there is no awkwardness, the embrace is well practiced, after all.

"I missed you " somes a muffled, emotional voice. "I missed you too." Comes the reply. "I didn't know if I should call or..or..if you needed space or… I was… so worried… I was going crazy." "Clearly. You're dating Anya." Comes the final muffled sentence before we break for air.

"You look… look at you." Willow says, teary and blush red. She is holding my face and it isn't in a bizarre way. "What happened, where did you go?"

"I just needed some..." I say and sniff up the threatening deluge, "Sorry. I just needed some time."

"Why what happened?" Willow says, her face filled with concern.

"A My Will Be Done spell, apparently" Anya says, looking at the crystal daggery thing, which is now flecked with green waves. She shakes it like a thermometer. "Huh, I was wrong about it being divine, it's just elemental, but in my defense, this was one super powerful Witch casting this."

"What are you talking about?" Willow says, looking back and forth between us.

"Xander bribed me with food stuffs because she wanted to find out how exactly he became a she."

"No, no, the foodstuffs were the apology for me being a complete dick to you" I correct.

"Oh that's right. You were a dick. So I guess you owe me eighteen fifty." She says. "Plus services, let's call it twenty five."

"Fine. Here." I pay Anya, who seems strangely delighted by the bills I hand over. My attention then falls on Willow, who is frozen to the spot, brow furrowed, eyes flicking back and forth.

I know that look.

"Willow, can we talk?" I say. "Outside?" I say firmer. "Now."

* * *

"I am sorry." Willow says as she follows me out into the street. I nod, and remain silent. "Like… really sorry."

"Mmmm hmmm"

"Xander… I… can't even begin to..."

"No. You can't."

I stop, trying to vent some of the heat in me in a long breath out through my teeth. One isn't enough. I aim this breath at the sky, and then have to press both my hands very firmly against the wall and make a growling noise. I fold my arms against the wall and let out a long strangled sort of a growl.

Human coping strategies are weird that way.

"Xander, you have to believe me, it was an accident. I am sorry." She says squatting down beside me, looking up. "Please don't be angry at me."

"Just." I hiss "Tell me why."

Willow slumps down so she is sitting against the wall. She looks off into space while I form this sort of red faced human arch against the wall next to her, contorting myself to stop from exploding.

"Remember when Anya and I met? She needed me to get her amulet back and it sort of went squiffy and we ended up summoning vampire me?"

"Keep. Going."

"It got me questioning stuff." She sighed. "And I realised that, I wasn't kinda gay. I was gay." She sighs, her lip trembling so that she bites it still for a moment. She swallows, and then shrugs. "And I was in love… with Tara."

A sort of hot laugh bursts from my mouth, just one, and I have to step away from the wall and draw air deeply into me. My ribs ached but it had to be done.

It is my turn to slump against the wall and slide down, palms to the brick work, ending my journey of discovery crumpled up beside her.

"We met at the Wicca group and she just… she is the real deal. We worked magic together, and talked for hours. Buffy would hang with us and they clicked too, so it was like this whole dynamic of her fitting in with everything in my life. She became… my world.

"One day, I just… I wanted to tell her, how I felt, but it is such a big leap. So, I, did a little spell to give me courage. To make me able to…

"And I felt great. Confident. Proud of who I was. I put my chin up and went over to her dorm and you know what I discovered?"

I closed my eyes, letting my skull thud pleasantly against the brickwork. She sighed and shrugged.

"Buffy and Tara. In bed together." She said, drawing her reddened face into something like her brave little soldier one. "All that time, I thought she liked me. Me. But she and Buffy had secretly been together for over a month. She was my world, Xander… my..."

I sigh and settle, the emotional steam is dying away leaving me heavy limbed. Still, I am simmering on the edge.

"It was a stupid, stupid little comment. I thought… I can never find someone like Tara. Nobody gets me like her. I just said to myself, no. Xander does. Xander gets me. I forgot about the My Will Be Done spell. A-a-nd i-It just slipped out."

"If only Xander were a girl." I growl, my lips forming a tight little smile.

We sit there, her and I, slumped against that wall, for some time as people walked on by. But as my numb mind clears, I think of Faith, and worry that she may oversleep her next round of pills. So I get up, and pick up my satchel and jumbo roll of toilet paper and dust off my damp ass.

"I can undo it." She says.

"Don't you dare, dare so much as think of me anywhere near another spell."

"I can, I promise. It's only one line I have to say, just one little line and..."

"Stop! Willow, just stop, okay. No. I said no. The very least thing, the most infinitesimally small thing that you can do for me, right now, or ever, is that. No magic. No charms. No counter spells. Nothing! No more meddling in my life Will. You can't imagine what I have been through because of… raaaaaah…. you so much as… I swear I will…"

"Xander… please." She sobs.

I claw the air in my rage, violent and terrible things rushing through my mind. I think of vampires wailing as I ram their heads into metal so hard it crumples, of stakes slamming home and punchbags torn from their chains.

"Xander…"

"No." I say, shaking. "Not one more word. Ever."

And that is that.

I just walk away.


	25. Old Reruns (But On A Better TV)

Chapter 24

Old Reruns

(But On A Better TV)

I remember a split second after I punch through the small square of glass that you are supposed to wrap cloth around it first. But I am so numb that I barely feel a thing. I staunch the flow of blood using one of the paper rolls from the battered pack I arrived with, leaving the remainder by the garage door.

I know _they_ are out because I can't hear any arguments coming from upstairs. Not that I cared, but this was simpler without them interrupting me.

I don't know what led me here exactly. A sense of nostalgia from meeting faces from my past? Or the need to staunch another kind of bleeding.

My room is in the same mess I left it in all those months ago, more or less, though much of the floor space is now filled with boxes of stock for whatever new get rich scheme is in the works. I have to shift some packages off my stale, sour stinking bed to make room to sit. The air is thick with dust and memories that sting just enough to make me feel something.

Xander, like me, numbed his pain with distraction and jokes. He focused his mind on useless trivia about superheroes and memorizing movie dialog. He filled every space he could with childish things to keep the inner child safe. I have to thank him for that. It got me through. It kept me going.

Willow was always infantile, giddy and she filled my days with childhood glee and tender forgiveness for being immature. The Master's Harvest collected us both up, still silly children, unprepared for the world, let alone the world of shadows, and forced us to grow up fast. I can see now how it stretched us, cracking us in parts, into the shape of young adults, but inside we weren't at all.

Willow looks mature now, more a woman, and carries herself with her chin up, having found power in magic. But inside she still is still irresponsible, careless… a petulant, snatching child.

And what am I?

My outer coating has changed too, vastly so, but inside? I thought I was growing up, I thought I had grown up.

Puberty made me obsessed with girls, but didn't give me the confidence or self esteem or social skills to approach them. I remained an abused, neglected child, wanting and frustrated and blaming.

I got obsessed with Buffy, and I attached all my flaws to that one answer- if Buffy wanted me, then I was valid, then I was something and I would have everything I craved: sex, self esteem, love. But she didn't want me that way.

Cordelia did, but her price tag for making out with me was a slew of sleights that kept my self esteem in the same tattered state. Sure, I was dating the Queen of the school, but in doing so she was dragged down to my level, so heavy was I in the mire. I think at the heart of it, that's why the 'fluke' happened with Willow. Why I allowed it to happen.

And then Faith.

Faith was sex. Pure, simple, hot, unrepentant sex. I wanted her and she wanted sex. No strings, just the teenage fantasy. An amazing body willing to let you do what your body so, so ached to do more than anything. She burned hot, she burned fast and she burned me. Because I wanted a girl to take my burdens, fill my needs- all of them. And just sex?

Well, that left me standing in the cold, naked, carrying my bundle alone.

Faith took sex from me, she gave it in return. But she refused to take my emotional burden, and like a child I was angry and hurt by that.

I laugh at the ironic twist ending. Xander did hand his entire burden to one girl.

Me.

I look around the room.

"Well, least you can do is give me some of your junk" I say. "You jackass."

* * *

As I head up the stairs to my apartment, I feel a fresh wave of numbness come over me. Something inside of me tells me Faith won't be there when I turn that key and open that door.

And I know that, she is still weak and a long way from recovering, but it's okay. It's gonna be okay. She doesn't owe me my absolution. She doesn't owe me the love I know I crave from her (and fear).

I am Lexi Hart, and I just pour the drinks. And I like my coffee with milk, and the feel of my muscles after I fight, and I stitch up the wounded and help those who need it. I make a mean Martini, and man, you just dare trying to beat me a comic book trivia dude.

And I give my heart away too easily, and I don't like people to see me cry. And I like girls and, maybe some guys a teensy bit too.

And I am going to be alright.

I am going to open this here door, and whatever I find behind it, I am going to be alright.


	26. Liberated Things

Chapter 25

Liberated Things

I hold my breath as I turn the key.

And though I have let go of my fears about surviving if she is gone, I know that I have not let go of my hope that she remains.

I expect her to be gone and I expect her to be here, fast asleep in my bed. The duality I am fine with. I am wrong on both counts.

The studio is dark and still, curtains drawn, and my bed is empty and neatly made up. And the smell is…

Mouthwatering.

"There she is." Faith says from the kitchenette. "Thought I may hafta come rescue you from something again."

"What's all this?" I say, looking at all the food laid out on the table.

"Well, you promised me Chinese take out, but suck real bad at follow through, so I figured I would show you how it's done."

"Huh? And all this time I thought Chinese food was just a myth." I say. I close the door and drop the satchel and battered bag of TP on the floor where I stand.

Faith seems inordinately pleased with herself as she lowers herself into her seat (I see that wince, missy) and peels open the last of the containers. I take the seat opposite her indicated by her eager head.

"This is a lot of food." I say.

"Ya think?" She says with a single shoulder shrug "glad your back, I'm starvin'." an eggroll is chomped and she groans as she chews. "Plus, this ain't gonna last, I got like, this super high metabolism."

"You got, like, my regular order here." I say.

"You put dots next to stuff on the menu. I got some of the stuff my Wa… uh… this woman who took me in, back in Boston, used to order. She kinda introduced me to Chinese food. Didn't get anything like this growin' up." All this whilst she piles high a plate. She isn't kidding about hungry. And seeing her eat it makes me smile all the harder.

I tuck in myself. General Tso's chicken and me just get along, what can I say? We eat in relative silence for the first few minutes, except for sounds of pleasure. Faith cheekily steals a few things from my plate with her fork, I steal a commensurate amount back from hers with my chopsticks.

"You are looking much better." I say, circling my sticks around. "How you feeling?"

"Truth or silence?"

"I was hoping for a scale from one to ten. Sorry, one to fifty."

"We don't always get what we hope for, princess." She says.

"I got to make out with you, so, You're wrong about that. Oh, and a dinner date. Kinda in the wrong order, as traditions go, but I'll take it."

"You think this is a date?" She says.

"I was teasing." I said. "Granted, my teasing voice sounds a lot like my sarcasm voice, which is rather reminiscent of my everyday voice, so I understand any possible confusion."

Faith smiles in a sort of enigmatic way, and then, puts down her fork and stands. She crosses the studio to a pile of two beaten up looking cardboard cartons sitting by the door that I hadn't noticed.

"What's that? You got out today?"

"Yeah." She says rummaging. "I felt kinda shitty stretching out all your teeny clothes with my womanly figure. I wondered if all my shit was still at… where I left it. And wouldn't you know?" She pulls out a tangle of wires, then a playstation and sets the down. "Place was all taped and boarded up, and trashed from where the rain got in. There ya are." She pulls something out of the box and returns.

It's a candle. She lights it with a zip lighter from her pocket, then settles back down into her chair.

"There." She says with a smirk. "Better?"

"Hmmm. Nice. But it's lacking something… " I reach behind me and fumble open the cupboard, pulling out a bottle of red wine. "I don't have any wine glasses though."

"You don't have any glasses."

"Jars are perfectly good glasses Faith." I say, hunting for the waiter's friend in my drawer. "So you get all you need? From your old place?"

"Yeah. There was more but… some of it was trashed and the rest just… let's just say has some bad associations."

"Would sir like to taste the wine?" I say, having opened the bottle and readied my thrifty, environmentally friendly glassware alternatives.

"You dork." She says, affectionately. She receives a full glass, jar, whatever, for her cuteness. We chink and drink. Then set about eating again. "Well, you get the honor of being my date for my first ever candle lit dinner. Also, why don't you just take some wine glasses from work?"

"That would be stealing. An unethical practice, pillars of society like me cannot condone."

"Howdya hurt your hand?"

"Breaking and entering." She laughs and swirls up a fork full of noodles up to her mouth. "It's weird, I went back to my old place too and got some stuff. Hence the bulging satchel yonder and my poor fist."

"Can ya tell me about it without breaking our rules?"

"My folks place. I haven't been back there for… well over three months now. I didn't want to see them so..." I hold up my taped up hand. "It throbs like a bitch, but I would take stitches over having to talk to them ever again. Still, I now am once again in possession of my signed Ray Harryhausen Clash of the Titans annual. These butterfly stitches have silver linings."

"Lexi Hart, are you a nerd under all that cool, mysterious exterior."

"Wait, you think I am cool?" I say. "Definitely landed on your head when you took that dive."

"Yes, I think you're cool. I also think you're hot." She says and sips her wine. The deep purr of her voice vibrates something deep within me. I find myself having to grin, blush and deal with a mouth full of Tso's chicken all at once. "But, I understand you got the whole 'complicated' thing going on, so I am just gonna say I really dig ya. That way, yunno. Whatever that means to you."

I chew my mouthful slowly, swallow and wash it back with a sip of the wine. There are many reasons why getting involved with Faith on any level is complicated, but every one of those reasons involves a past I no longer want to stay connected to, and a future that I know involves her leaving.

But instead of anchoring my feelings to her as she flies away, I think about who I am now. Right now.

And I am a girl, uncertain in her body, who needs to explore it, and grow into it, and own it. And what better way to start to learn to accept it than have someone explore it with me?

And what will hurt more? Her leaving having been intimate with me, or her leaving without? I would regret not acting on my feelings for her. I would regret not having a night to write over the memories of the past.

"Life is complicated." I say. "But you and I doesn't have to be complicated. Does it?"

She seems unsure of what I am saying. She takes a sip of wine, her eyes dark and glinting in the candlelight. I stand, my heart hammering in my chest, and I step away from the table.

She is watching me as I nervously stand before her. I kick off my doc martins, my eyes on her. I cross my arms over and peel away my sweater, letting it drop to the floor. The way she looks at me drives me on, and I feel my arousal rising to mix with my fear. I peel away my T-shirt.

"Don't stop." She says. So I don't. My jeans are gone now, and I reach behind to unclasp my bra.

Faith stands now, slowly, never taking her eyes off me. One of her hands hangs loose at her side, the other hooks lightly into the belt of her pants. I can see the tension in the way she stands, and it halts me on the brink of revealing myself. Her gaze is not lascivious, or victorious, it is… appreciating… encouraging.

I let the bra slide off, exposing my chest. My throat feels like stone as I swallow and meet her gaze.

Faith's eyes travel over my exposed body, magnifying every inch that she looks at within my consciousness, so that by the time her eyes return to mine, I feel like I have grown vaster, or perhaps, more real.

I am raw to feelings I have tried to deny, which now move like tectonic plates within me. The shame is sharp, but crumbles in the light. The confusion whirls, but stills in the wake of my senses. It feels like my naked skin is drawing me out from the wounds of the past and into the present moment.

I slide the last garment free and in this silence, it sounds loud as it hits the floor around my feet.

And I step free.


	27. The Curves

Chapter 26

The Curves

Faith is about eight inches taller than me and I am acutely aware of the difference as she closes the gap between us. She is taller and broader, and even in her current weakened state, I know she is far stronger than I could ever hope to be.

And now, unarmed and unclothed before her, I should feel helpless, insignificant.

But I don't.

I step to her, that last little distance, look up into her eyes and see her fear and her uncertainty. And wanting. And something more…

I feel the balance of the scales shifting. It settles somewhere in the heat between us.

How could I feel insignificant when this woman, this mighty warrior of a woman, looks at me so?

I take her hand and place it to my cheek. And sigh at the tender way she cups it. I reach up behind her neck and draw her lips down to mine, and she comes willingly to my kiss. There is a heat there that was absent last time our lips met.

My flesh is pressed against her fully clothed body. I feel the coolness of leather against my legs, and the chill graze of her studded belt against my belly. The contrast feels so erotic to me all of a sudden, like my display of sexuality is even more bold, more total, and that thought sends a wave of sensation through my limbs that culminates in me kissing her greedily and wantonly. God, I can smell my own arousal.

I back up, taking us to my bed, and her clothes are shed along the way. As I fall back, she follows, keeping control of her balance to where she is kneeling between my legs. I have unconsciously opened them to her, but now aware of this, I hook my feet behind her legs to help draw her closer. Because I want her close. I want her completely. I want her inside me.

She lowers herself down, hands either side of my head, and gazes at me with something like wonder.

"You are… just..." she says, and shakes her head at a thought. Her face is flushed already but it feels like a blush to me.

I don't want to talk. I don't have any connection to the stream of wisecracks and self deprecating comments flowing through my brain. Something else has caught me in its undertow. I pull myself up to her mouth and claim it, and am rewarded for the effort with a kiss that sets my body shaking with need.

Faith kisses me like an echo, need for need, heat for heat.

Then, oh, I feel her sex press down into mine and my mind distorts under a barrage of new sensations. Broader, deeper and I swear to every god and demonic force out there I will destroy the world of I never get to feel something like that again. That force manifests in me grasping her butt and grinding my pelvis upwards. She groans with me, and in silent agreement, together we find a repeatable movement to extend the bliss. Building it, building it and... and...and (excuse my dirty mouth but)...

**fuuuuuuuuuu-uuuu-uuuuuu-uuuuuuuuckkkk**!!!!!

And... what?

It still isn't enough for me. Though it flies beyond any sexual sensation I have had my body knows there is more to be had, and I find myself flipping Faith onto her back so I can find it. She goes willingly, drawing me down, urging me on. And I find something close to incredible as our bodies meet and our mouths follow.

In control now, I shift as I grind, this way and that, each rock of my hips changing the notes of the chords ringing through me, and, from the things she mutters and moans against my lips, through her too.

I slip into a surreal state upon the sensation, just for a moment, as if the pleasure was me at a concert and I had been lifted up, surfing the crowd, getting a clear view of the silent sky above it all.

Or, more like… I was self aware, a bubble of consciousness both encompassing and out of my body all at the same time.

And I felt perfect.

And then, I feel a shuddering and am drawn back to my lover as she trembles under me, then bucks, her head pressed to the pillows. Her limbs slacken but for a moment, and then she is back, hungry eyes and hungrier kisses.

And I am flipped myself, and cry out in delight as she grins down on me, that wanton leer back, but softened with satisfaction. I must kiss her. So I do. Or try… but she presses me back into the mattress with a hand and brings her lips down onto my right breast. And once again my body wants more, even more than the abundance it has been given.

It doesn't have to wait long, as fingers cup my groin, pressing a slow circle into the flesh that I had, up to this moment, feared to acknowledge.

I have to shut my eyes at the waves of sensation cause me to arch and buck. And I hear the amused breathy chuckle from somewhere down near my chest. It makes me laugh a deep throated laugh, before the new sensation shuts off that part of my brain entirely.

I feel her finger slip where nothing has ever gone before. And to my amazement, and confusion, I want it to keep going. Fuck, I want it to take up residence and invite some friends over and… ohhh. Oooooh. Hello. Welcome in.

Hold on, can't narrate. Just…

Give…

Me…

A…

Sec…

It isn't what I was expecting. I felt the first inklings of orgasm and braced myself for the coming explosion. But it didn't. And I found myself on this bizarre shore of sensation. The orgasm was no tsunami. No force of destruction that smashed onto the beach and sent me flying to my sleep. It was a wave though, a big wave that came towards me and yet broke before it hit, rolling back and sending the sea washing over me, only to rise as another, larger wave behind it. And those strange new tides were kind to me, reaching me over and over, carrying me deeper into new territory, whereby my metaphor completely breaks down and I find myself screaming out the loudest obscenity I have ever uttered.

I am boneless and buzzing from the tip of my head to the tag on my toes, which I must have now because I am dead. Dead. Dead. I have to be dead after that.

Right?

* * *

"You okay in there?" Faith says, clearly very amused.

"Lex isn't here right now, she is recalibrating her entire existence. Please leave a message and get back to me after the mind blowing orgasms."

Plural. In a row.

And to think I ever wanted to be a boy?

I can't open my eyes yet, I am not even sure I have any at this stage.

"Hi Lex, this is Faith. Just wanted to thank you for the awesome date. Wonderin' if your up for another… round… of… sex. (She kisses my neck with each pause) okay laters babe, call me." She adds a 'click' sound effect for good measure.

As strange as it is to me, I find the answer is actually yes. And that's just blowing my mind right now because I should be halfway to sleepsville right now. I smile and find her mouth with mine.

It's an easy enough thing to press her into her back and certainly no task to start trailing kisses down her body. And the attention I let my tongue give to her left breast? Well, it would be a grave injustice if it was not meted out equally to her right. A grave injustice indeed.

I am drawn to the scent of her sex. It's heady and delicious, and I can't help but kiss my way down. I mean, I have served well as the defender of justice so far…

And I feel puckered, uneven flesh under my kiss, and pull back when I realise that I am kissing her scar.

She shifts onto her elbows, looking down at me. Her face is serious and grim. I lean a little back and look at the scar.

It's actually two scars, running vertical, the upper one branching, possibly where the blade wall pulled or knocked free. Then I remember the knife that Faith had held to Willow's throat. Two blades with a gap in between. Buffy never gave me any of the details of their final fight. But I see now. She had stabbed Faith with her own knife.

I know that Buffy doesn't scar easily. The two bite marks on her neck that echo my very own being a glaring exception. The apostrophe scar on her thumb from where she foolishly poked at a mystical sword tip was the other.

I stroke the flesh with my fingers, finding it strangely cooler than the rest of her skin. Then I resume my kisses. I kiss the scars, kiss the soft belly around them and begin to travel lower...

She stops me, placing a hand to my chin and lifting it.

"Lexi. Can you like… uh… come up here."

I nod, and shift so I am laying at her side. Her head moves to rest on my shoulder, and I slide my arms around her.

"Thanks." She says, her voice small and weak again. I press a kiss to her head.

"If I tell you somethin'. Like… if I tell you somethin' will you keep it?"

"Barkeep's honor." I whisper.

"I did some bad things. Some real bad things." She says. "Things I can't ever take back."

"Who hasn't?" I say. Her hand comes to rest on my sternum, fingers spreading over my flesh, silky-smooth-rough.

"Listen. I… can I tell you a story? It's like it's stuck in my throat and if it ain't then it's in my head and I just… I want it out of me. I just…" she sighs and lightly draws her spread fingers down my chest.

"Maybe we should just stick to secrets."

"Maybe." She says. The hand becomes as a pen, and she traces words across my flesh. Her finger feels gentle and tender, but I feel the trembling.

"So, how's this story start?"

"I fell in love." She says. The hand stills and she slides it over me, as if to rub away what she has written. "With a straight girl."

"Ouch. What was she like?"

"On her good days? Amazing. Funny. Brave. Wicked sharp. First chick I met who could keep up with me, yunno?"

I did.

"And on her bad days?"

"She treated me like I was beneath her. An inconvenience, an imposter. She made me always feel like I wasn't good enough.

And her friends, I thought they liked me at first, but, I think she turned them against me, always making plans without me. And silly little love struck me, I just played along. Like some dumb love struck puppy dog.

"This chick. She had everything. Cool mom who didn't drink and actually gave a shit about her, big house, all the home cooked food she could want and… and the clothes this chick had; And the shoes? Wow.

"It's like I never saw her in the same get-up once. And she never knew how good she got it. Never.

"I just… she just always reminded me that I didn't deserve any of that."

She sits up, and at first i think she is going to get up, but instead she turns around, laying facing me on her belly, propping herself up on her elbows.

"The she kinda warmed to me. Guess I was rubbing some of my muck on her and she enjoyed playing in the dirt. I showed her how to loosen up. Be a bit wilder. And I felt that, maybe if I bought her a little more down into my world, she would notice me. And I think she did. Because one day, out of the blue, she kissed me. We were just fooling around, dancing, living it up. And she kissed me."

Faith looks up at me properly now.

"This make you uncomfortable? Me talking about other chicks?"

"No." I say, honestly. What made me uncomfortable is seeing the story from her side, and the way it was cracking and shifting about my memory of the events. But seeing her talking about Buffy didn't make me uncomfortable. It was hard to be around Buffy and not fall in love with her. "You sure you wanna talk about this stuff?"

She nods, her eyes glassy.

"One day, I go to kiss her and she gets angry at me. Tell's me it was over." She says, then pulls a face and changes her voice "Because it's wrong".

She sighs and shakes her head.

"So this girl, she lied all the time. I mean, double life kind of stuff. To me, to her friends. So, it turns out that she had this ex boyfriend who was real trouble. Real trouble. She lied to us all that he was back in town. And she was hiding him away, protecting him. So it turns out, I wasn't nothin' but an experiment to her. A toy to be discarded. Something to be ashamed of.

"So there I am, hurting all the more, stuck in this toxic… hole… and I couldn't find a hand hold."

She reaches for my hand and turns it over, idly looking at the stitches, and tape and plasters that pepper it.

"I meet this guy, older guy. And he gives me everything. A job. This great apartment. Playstation. Food. Everything. He gives me a feeling that I am worth something." She says. "And before ya say anythin' it weren't like that. He never touched me, never so much as looked at me like that. He was a real family man. He treated me like a daughter. Properly, like a daughter. It was nice."

I feel tears forming, but fight them back. This isn't about me. She just needs someone to listen. She needs this.

"I knew he was a bad guy. Into real dark, shady stuff. He got me to do his dirty work. Stuff I wouldn't even dream of, but, I was just so happy to… he had this amazin' smile that just lit you all up inside when you made him happy. And he was so goofy. So, so goofy."

"But… the stuff he asked me to do just got worse and worse. There was his…"

I grip her hand as best I can, and slide my other over the top.

"I killed someone, Lex." She says with tears in her eyes. "I killed this old, harmless guy… just straight up. How could I do that? How could I… how did I get there?"

I draw her up into a tight embrace, kissing her as she sobs.

"And I couldn't stop. I couldn't. And he was… I…"

"Shhhhhh." I say, and keep her wrapped up.

"No." She sniffs, pressing her head down on my collarbone, and drawing in a deep, ragged breath."

"This girl, the chick I was crazy about, she tried to stop me. She came over to my place with a knife and she was gonna kill me."

"Faith, please."

"And I let her, Lexi. I could have easily stopped her, but I just got to the end and I thought… okay, do it. Kill me. And I let her."

"And now I am here and he is dead, and I have nothing and I really, really wish she finished me off. Lexi, it hurts so, so much and I just wish she had finished me off".

I hold her until every last tear she has has bled out of her.


	28. Like, Totally Dealing

Chapter 27

Like, Totally Dealing

The morning is cold, and it takes me a little while to pry myself from the warmth of our bed. Faith was attached to me like a limpet all night, hot breath flowing across my neck as she held onto me. Her sleep was restless, but deep. I drifted off at some stage, I guess, but I don't recall any dreams. Sorry.

I am dragged out of my cocoon, begrudgingly, by my bladder. And with great care I peel back Faith's fingers one my one, and free myself.

Ablutions done, I set about binning the remains of our dinner and preparing the heartiest breakfast I know how. I am on my second cup of coffee before I notice Faith sitting at the end of the bed, still naked, hands together resting on her knees.

"Do I scare you?" She says.

"Sometimes." I say.

"Do you want me to go."

"No."

"I wasn't lying. Last night. I have never lied to you."

"I know. And I have never lied to you."

"I am a murderer." She says, flatly.

"Yes." I say, biting into the triangle of buttered toast. "You hungry?"

Faith stands, shakily, and growls at herself. Her fingers graze the wall as she makes her way over.

"Don't you care?"

"I do."

"About what I did?"

"Yeah. It's a big deal. But it doesn't change whatever this is. The agreement between us."

"How can it not?"

I stay silent, and finish frying the bacon. Faith sits down.

"So that's it? I tell you I deliberately killed someone and you are cool with that?"

"Lemme ask you this. Usual rules, okay?"

"Okay."

"If I told you the same thing, that I had killed someone. How would you feel?"

"Wouldn't change nuthin'." she says. "Have you?"

"Monsters count?"

"Not to me."

"Then no." I said. "You ever gonna do it again? Kill someone?"

"No. Never. Not unless it's them or me." She says "or someone I care about." She looks at me as she says this.

I sit down and start eating. Faith watches me, and then looks down at her plate.

"What is all this?

"Full English breakfast." Something like what Gile's had fed me back when I arrived at his door, pleading for help. "You said you had a high metabolism last night. Figured this would be what you need."

Faith takes a bite and smiles awkwardly.

"And she cooks bacon just how I like it. Figures."

"Faith." I say, thinking about how I want to put this. "I want to change our deal."

"You do want me to go."

"No. That's just it. I want you to stay. Not just until you are better, I want…" I rub my face and let out a long tired breath. "I want to help you get back to who you were before that story you told me."

"I can't undo it." She says. "And I can't stay. She will find me, eventually." She says. I nod, defeated. I can't think of a path through the maze of secrets that doesn't burst this little romantic, domestic bubble. It would explode. Spectacularly. I play it back and forth, but have to face facts. Even if I spoke to her, Faith and Buffy's relationship was beyond fixing.

Hell, I am not sure even Buffy and my relationship is fixable. So I let another sigh free and face facts.

"Hey. I get it." I say. "And I knew you would have to… I promised you uncomplicated, and I stick to my promises. You saved me. I saved you. And this… thing between us stays uncomplicated." I return to my breakfast. "But, you aren't out of the woods yet, so eat up and take your morning dose, okay. And be here when I get back after work tonight. Because while you are here, I really, really want some more of that amazing sex."

She laughs, despite herself. Her cheek apples red and shining from tears.

"Deals a deal." She says. She drinks from her mug. "Uncomplicated."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"Cool."

* * *

Round two happens as I am showering. I am under the hot stream and next thing I know, Faith has joined me.

Continuous hot water for the win

Round three happens after my legs are too jellified for me to stand anymore, and after a good mutual toweling off, we manage to get to the bed. Mostly. I mean, it kinda wandered around the surfaces on the way to- but the majority of the experience was on the bed.

And in that post sex haze, I am laying draped over Faith's belly across the matress as we both pant for air.

"This wasn't part of the deal, Faith. You save me. I save you, and at no stage did we agree on you killing me with orgasms." I say, breathless and very much sated. Finally.

"You can talk, what are you? Did you go to a Catholic school or something?"

"What the hell has that have to do with anything?"

"Us Catholic girls hafta play catchup for all that repression." She places her hands together in humble prayer. "Dontcha Know?"

"You? YOU?"

"No lies." She says, "Irish Catholic. Non practicing, obviously. "

I slump down, stunned at the revelation. I slowly catch my breath, and the sensation returns to my legs. My… what's between my legs feels sore in a strangely pleasant way. It's not uncomfortable, just… noticeable. I hope I can stand up at the bar tonight is all I am saying.

"You ever been with a girl before?" Faith says, her fingers toying with my hair.

"Yeah. One. You?" You.

"None." Faith says. My dubious face is back, which she replies to with a raised brow. "Truth or silence. That's the deal."

"Huh." I say. "Color me surprised."

"Always wanted to. Never got around to it. So you're my first." She says, and pecks my cheek.

"Do I get a medal?" I say, to which she chuckles against neck. "Gold. No, platinum. Something tasteful, but huge. Or perhaps a little brass plaque I can mount on my bed."

"Weird, I figured a hot bar chick like you would be drowning in pussy."

"First, that metaphor? Just no. Second, you underestimate the power of my aloofness and sour demeanor."

"What about guys? Any experience in guys?" I think about that question for a moment. Technically a lot of experience with one. Kinda. Huh. But Faith has taken my silence in light of our deal. She rolls onto her back, with hum.

"You?" I ask.

She remains silent.

"Faith, can I ask? How do you see yourself. Like, gay or bisexual or…"

"Why?"

"Just trying to figure things out myself. I mean, I like girls. I know that, but it gets fuzzy at the edges when I think about some guys."

"Can't help ya Lex. It's hella confusing" She sighs. "See, I dig guys and girls just the same. Alway have. But, never really fell for a guy. Never could. I just think of being with a guy for more than the time it takes to get me off and I get all… weird about it. Like I can't breathe. But girls? That's different. I fall for girls. I fall way hard. Waaaaay hard" She sighs, rubbing her fingers idly across her belly. "So I ain't gay, right? Cause I find guys hot. See? Hella confusing."

"Good thing we are keeping this uncomplicated then. Isn't it?"

"Mmm hmmm" she says. "like, totally."

"Yep."

* * *

Sandy is back at the bar tonight, serving customers with a firm, calm stare and her shoulder squarer, stronger. I notice the large silver cross on a leather thong that sits upon her cleavage. She meets my eye as she pours, and gives me a respectful nod and a smile.

I grin and return to walking the floor, gathering up the empties.

It's fairly busy but the music tonight is chill and meaningful and everyone is swaying about, feeling feels and sipping their drinks slow.

Maggie has taken over a quiet booth and is tapping away at her shiny new laptop. I balance the stack of empties on the table and pull up next to her.

"Stevie Nix she is not." She mutters without looking up. A hand waves towards the angsty singer/songwriter on stage "Sings of pain but she clearly hasn't found her Buckingham yet."

"Give her time. And a readily available supply of cocaine. And maybe your ex husband." A smile is shot my way.

"Need something?"

"Her name's Faith." I say. Maggie slaps the laptop shut with both hands and swivels to face me. Glasses tipped and ready. "And we met in highschool…"


	29. Little Wonder

Chapter 28

Little Wonder

There isn't that many luxury apartments in Sunnydale. The affluent of our merry valley tend to congregate on the cluster of walled mansions on the hillsides to the north. That's where Cordelia, Harmony and her ilk were weaned on their silver spoons. I am sure, knowing what I learned last year of the power structures the Mayor had in place, that which flowed their way came from Machida and his ilk. Delta Zeta Kappa men, voting Wilkins, sneering down their noses at the towns folk who existed in their minds to be used as sacrifices, drones and playthings.

I am working class, from a barely working class family, themselves crawling up from, and sneering down at "trailer trash".

Faith is too, I gather. She scrubs her clothes in the sink with well practiced routine and calloused hands (mmmmm).

Helping to lay waste to Delta Zeta Kappa had been a joy for me.

So those kind of people dwell to the north, and the warfies and factory workers to the west. Buffy and Willow hail from the upper middle classes, which gather to the east. But there is a vacuum between their class and those of sickening abundance in Sunnydale. Very few, if any, who rose through the ranks by making their own fortunes.

Thus, things like luxury converted warehouse apartments aren't common. So, when I find myself looking up at one on my way to the costume store, and I notice a flapping tarpaulin on the top floor, it makes we wonder.

And I keep wondering all the while I am in the fancy dress store, waiting to pick up my order.

The door has been kicked in, boarded up, and then kicked in again.

I am assaulted by the smell of mold and dust carried on the cool Fall breeze. The space is large and dim, the only light coming from the grey evening sky.

The carpet is creme, with a faded blue framed square central feature set before a large arch brick window. The bed is mussed and scattered with comics, and a tub of furry things which I suspect were twizzlers in a former life.

The furniture has been trashed, and here and there lamps lay broken. I can almost picture the fight as it ranged across the room, almost feel the burning, frustrated rage behind the blows. The raw emotions exploding into violence. The hurt forming hurt. The urge to destroy, and be destroyed.

The carpet squelches underfoot as I approach the raised dias that leads to the broken arched window. The tarpaulins were not secured properly, and have come down in the rain. One flaps idly at the edge of the broken glass.

Out here is where it ended. It must have, because she fell at the end. Or was pushed. Or jumped.

The knife isn't rusty, despite laying in a dirty grey puddle where the gutters have overflowed. It still looks as sharp and wicked as the day I saw it, held to Willow's throat. I don't touch it. I see no point. I would carry the damned thing to the fires of Mount Doom, and I you bet I wouldn't hesitate to throw it in.

When my curiosity beats out my fear, I lean out over the balcony, down to the street below. I recognise it as the one behind the cinema.

Jesus. That's a long way to fall.

* * *

"Lex? What are you doing?"

"Psyching myself up."

"For what?"

I point towards the garment bag hanging from the shower rail and return to staring at myself in the mirror. Faith pops the spoonful of yoghurt she was eating in between her teeth and holds it there, whilst she peels back the zip.

"You want me to wear this for ya?" She grins "Lexi you kinky nerd."

"No! It's not for that… it's for work."

"You got a side gig?" Brows waggle. She licks the spoon clean and places it in the yoghurt on the sink.

"Faith. Stop. This is hard enough for me as it is." She slips the golden tiara with the little red star onto her head and looks approvingly at herself in the mirror. I swallow. Oh. Uh. "Uh… so Maggie insists we are all in costume for Halloween tomorrow and I am freaking the hell out."

"Body issues." She says, flatly. "So why did ya pick it out in the first place?"

"Because it's Sunnydale." I say, to which she gives me a blank stare. "Look, last year this chaos sorcerer cast a spell and a bunch of us became our costumes. Monsters and ghosts and ghoulies everywhere. Folk died. It was chaos."

"And you thought in case of a repeat you would become a superhero." She says.

"Well, yeah."

"This town, man." She shakes her head. But I notice her face fall and her eyes rake through memories. "I used to want to be a super hero." She says then gives a little puff of a laugh. "Little Abigail wishin' she was strong." She slides another mouthful of yogurt in her mouth and sucks the spoon clean. Then with a wicked smile, I find a golden lasso wrapped around me. "So be honest, what did you become last year? A My Little Pony? Strawberry Shortcake?"

"I plead the fifth." I say.

"I think this lasso is broken." She says, and gives it a little shake. "But do me a favour, if it does happen again, head on home because Linda Carter had it going on."

"That she did." I sigh. She then tugs the lasso, leans in and gives me a strawberry flavored kiss.

"Me? I would dress up as Electra."

"I can see that." I grin.

"Look Lex, you don't got nothin' to worry about-no, shut up with that double negative crap already. You have an amazing body".

" I do. I know I do. In theory, anyway." I sigh and tap my skull. "Loose wire up here. I am working on it."

"Loose wire explains a lot." She then takes off the tiara and sets it on my head.

"Where it belongs" She says.


	30. The Case of The Pricked Thumb

Chapter 29

The Case of The Pricked Thumb

(Aka Halloween Special)

Faith is getting better each day, the color has returned to her cheeks and the bruising under her eye has all but gone, and thanks to my efforts (not to brag) but she is losing some of that skeletal look.

But she is still weak. By Slayer standards she is wrecked. It reminds me of the time we all like to forget when Giles performed that awful cruciamentum on Buffy. The first days when Buffy acted confused and angry at herself, before she opened up about her loss of strength. Faith bumps into door frames and glides into walls, and she has bouts of dizziness that end in her drifting off into fitful sleeps which I cannot rouse her from.

Of course, since my propositioning up until yesterday morning she had fallen asleep in a (not to brag again) sexually satisfied, snuggly bundle, but as much as Marvin Gaye might have a damn good point about such things on the soul, sexual healing just isn't cutting it for my wounded little Slayer.

But that is all on hold right now too, as Faith is grumbling too about her period hurting like hell, clutching her belly and groaning that it is way worse than usual.

It's like The Slayer healing just isn't kicking in, or as if something is… I hate to admit it, but what if Faith is right about permanent damage?

Right now she is lost in another feverish sleep, having barely made it an hour after breakfast before the color suddenly drained out of her and she went to go nap.

I am trying to put things into perspective. She is stable and inching towards regular health, which is better than the opposite.

And in the plus column, the few hours I get with her between her need to sleep and my need to work has been some of the happiest hours of my life. If I can just bank them in my psyche as wins, hold onto those moments as gifts to cherish, then I may just get out of all this with some self esteem and a smile. Perhaps a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

* * *

A few hours into my shift and I am actually grateful for how much skin my costume exposes. The AC in The Bronze is barely keeping up with all the body heat beating out of the packed crowd. I imagine the fire marshalls would have a fit, if any ever actually braved it. Maggie Mott tells me far too many have gone missing, and they clearly have gotten the message.

Still, what little I am wearing is sweaty and tight, and I can't help but notice the eyes on me, which sends me in a whirl of mixed feelings. Powerful and attractive on one side of that see saw, mortified and creeped out on the other. Still, there are no vamps that I can see other than the mortal teenagers daubed with white paint and chewing their straws through plastic teeth.

Sandy is a nun, Maggie is the Bride of Frankenstein and new guy Lance is showing his muscles off as a bare chested cowboy that gives me flashbacks of my time in Vegas. We shan't discuss the details; just let it go.

And despite the crush of the crowd, the heat, and my wrestling with my issues vis-a-vis costume, I am starting to enjoy myself. The music is kicking along and the mood is good, and I am swaying and tapping my foot as I go. The satisfied smile on my usually sour face? Well that's Faith's fault.

How much like Halloween my life is. Since meeting Buffy my life has been a whirl of witches, werewolves, ghouls, fish men, mummys, mantis ladys, evil clowns, hyena spirits, possessed puppets and of course, vampires. And yet, in among all the monsters and the horrors I have faced, here I am. Standing. And breathing, and laughing and dancing and… loving.

I know I am in love with Faith. I know that. And for once I am not swept up in some infantile, idealistic escape from my problems. Nor am I confusing attraction or lust for love. I adore the glimpses she has shown me of the real her, of both Faith and of the girl from which she sprang, of Abigail. We have a lot in common, but that isn't a connection that chains us, it is a language we share. It's the moments in the speaking that I find my love for her. The ways she makes me laugh, and cry, and gasp, and chuckle and think. I love Faith. I love having her around. And I will still love her wherever she is in the world.

All around me the room is filled with monsters, and inside I feel strong. My muscles are alive and my smile comes easy and naturally.

I love Faith and maybe, just maybe, I am starting to love Lexi too.

* * *

If this were a detective caper, it would have gone something like this: A drunken teen would have cut their thumb or waved a plastic weapon in the air, or something like that and I would have turned to my bumbling but well meaning assistant and exclaimed "that's it! The missing piece of the puzzle!" But it isn't like that. Instead, I am sucking on a slice of lime as I unload a steaming tray of glasses from the washer, hip bopping to Backstreet's Back.

But it hits me all the same, and in my mind the thought train makes these unscheduled stops:

_The knife at Faith's apartment hadn't rusted._

_The knife at Faith's apartment should have rusted._

_The knife at Faith's apartment is probably supernatural._

_Faith has a scar from where Buffy stabbed her with that knife._

_Buffy doesn't usually scar, except when the wound is supernatural in origin._

_The knife is supernatural in origin._

_The knife was given to Faith by The Mayor._

_The knife was given to Faith because he wanted her to kill Buffy._

_Buffy is a Slayer._

_Faith is…_

Sandy looks at me wide eyed and startled as I grab her arms and shake her.

"That's it! The missing piece of the puzzle!"

I bestow a kiss on her forehead, toss my towel towards the sink and hop the bar. And then I am running just as fast as my invisible jet can carry me.


	31. Something Wicked

Chapter 30

Something Wicked

Giles opens the door in either the ugliest sombrero I have ever seen or the ugliest lampshade I have ever seen.

His smile shifts from amped up jolly to genuine warm.

"Xander."

"Tricky treaty?" I say, with an awkward grin. The door is opened to me but no invitation is issued to enter. Lessons learned. I step over the threshold by way of confirmation, and he relaxes a little.

"Happy, er, Halloween. Care for some, frankly, god awful American candy?" A bowl is offered, but I shake my head. Giles leads me through to the kitchen.

"No Olivia?" I say, glancing around the festively decorated house. It's campy and spooky and I love it.

"Uh, no." Giles says, automatically setting about the task of making tea. "Unfortunately, our relationship ended on a rather sour note. Some of my past came back to haunt us, as it were."

"I know the feeling." I say, and perch myself against the countertop. "So tell me, how is everyone? What's been happening previously on Buffy: The Vampire Slayer?"

"To be honest, I am the wrong person to ask. Supernatural occurrences have fallen to, well, practically non existent. In the lull, Buffy has been, well, swept up in the college lifestyle."

"Oh."

"Still, I am happy for her. She gets to have some semblance of the normal life she so craved. It's good that she gets to be an everyday girl, without the weight of the world hanging on her shoulders."

"She doesn't come around much I take it?"

"No." He says. "Her visits are rather infrequent."

"And Willow? Anya? Still a thing?"

"Yes, I believe their relationship is going very well." He says, handing me a mug of tea. "Bafflingly enough."

"Love is a strange thing." I say, and take a sip of my drink.

"That said, I have to give the girls credit, my initial concerns about the relationship proved to be unfounded. If anything, they are both flourishing in each other's influence. Willow has helped Anya get a grasp on human interactions, to some degree, and Anya, in turn, has been a guiding hand in Willow growing as a witch. Both in skill, and, you may perhaps be comforted to know, in responsibility."

"Anya is teaching Willow responsibility?" I say, and yes, the emphasis goes where you think it does. "Anya? The former demon of vengeance? The girl who we had to thank for meeting Willow's fangy doppleganger?"

"That was an accident. But you must understand this to understand Anya. Vengeance comes in response to a wrong doing. Anya is very responsible. When she understands a law, she sticks to it to the letter. She was not a demon of chaos, but of justice. Certainly, the chaos she caused in wake of the wish making was for the entertainment of the elder gods who revel in human suffering, but she herself, nonetheless, was absolute in her understanding of responsibility, consent, promises, fidelity and honesty. Brutal, though the latter often is, in her hands."

"Huh." I say. "So you are okay with her being a thousand year old demon responsible for… who knows how much death and destruction?"

"Anya is a teenage girl." Giles says. "Struggling with finding her place in the world. Of waking up one day just a regular girl with no parents, friends, income or any idea how to function on a day to day basis. And she is trying."

"Faith killed two people. One by accident. One because she wanted to please the Mayor. And yet she is the villain. How does Anya get a clean slate and Faith doesn't?"

Giles sits down across from me. He takes off his hat (lampshade?) and his glasses, and sets them down upon the table.

"Xander, Faith chose to betray her calling, her duty and her friends. She chose to lie to us. She chose to take life for selfish gain. I doubt she would want forgiveness or even see her acts as wrong."

"And what if she does?"

"Well, that's all purely hypothetical. She woke up from her coma recently and escaped. Buffy looked for her, of course, but she must have left town."

"Yeah. I know." I say, rubbing my face. "She came to The Bronze. Looked sick as hell."

"My god, when did this happen?"

"Old news. She didn't recognise me. Obviously." I drink the tea and ponder how much I should reveal. Giles' words are sinking into that mix too. Choice. Betrayal. Lies.

Buffy lies. Buffy is a liar.

"Did you know about Buffy and Tara?"

"Yes. Well, I found out when Willow came to me, crying her heart out, poor girl. She had her heart rather set on Tara, I gather."

"She was in love with Tara and I was in love with Buffy." I say with a shake of my head. "That's what explodes the scoobies."

"Buffy told me about the... confusion that happened. I am so sorry Xander."

"Lexi." I say. "My name is Lexi now."

"Very well, Lexi." Giles says." So I gather Willow knows how to break the spell, but it is no longer your wish to do so."

"Yeah. Yes. I am Lexi now. I want to be Lexi, and forget Xander ever existed."

"If that is your wish. I will make sure that Willow respects that."

"Thank you, Giles."

"Of course, _my_ name is Rupert."

"Yeah, no, that is just weird."

"It's alright Lexi, I must confess I rather find it amusing that you all call me Giles. Makes me feel like I am back at University. "

"Well, Giles, if Faith comes back. I want to give her the same clean slate Anya got. And that I got."

"_If_ she comes back. And she wants it. Genuinely wants it, I am willing to give it to her. Though as for trust? She will have to earn that back."

I nod.

"Of course there is another problem she has to face if she does."

"And that is?"

"Faith was hidden from The Watcher's Council whilst in her coma. The Mayor had seen to that. She was on record as Sarah Wilkins. Had they known, they would have... taken steps to ensure the next Slayer was called."

"They want to kill her?" I say. "How is that...? Buffy left the council, why didn't they kill her?"

"Faith is the active Slayer." Giles says. "If she dies, a new Slayer is called from the potentials. If Buffy dies a second time, she may trigger another Slayer, she may not. Even if she is out of the Watcher's control, she is still fighting the good fight."

"A numbers game."

"Quite." He says, darkly. He then looks at me with a sad, comforting manner. "So. Faith. How is she?"

I swallow. Looking down at my tea. I see a girl in a golden tiara looking back at me.

* * *

I drop the damp grey bundle on the Magic Box reading table among all the open books and slump down in the chair. Giles looks up from a tome and nods.

"I got these too." I say "For old times sake." I place a box of doughnuts next to him. He smiles at this, and turns his attention to the bundle.

The double bladed dagger glimmers wickedly in the dim light. Brown wood and blackish, grey guard and heel. It is all barbs and sharp edges, much like the girl herself.

"The knife isn't ancient or custom, it's made in America this century, it's actually from a mail order catalogue. But the metal itself has undergone a… shifting, a… a… sort of swapping of matter from our world to a hell dimension. See how it sort of resonates on a different sort of… uh… uh..."

"It looks wiggy."

"It looks wiggy." He confirms.

"So it's made of bad stuff. Which is why it has scarred Faith. Does it explain her weakness?"

"Not directly. But according to this reference to Infernal Steel in the writings of Abraham Lees, such metals can hold 'poisons of words'. Which I am guessing means a curse of some kind that is transferred to the victim."

"'Poison of words?' Why doesn't any of the guys writing this stuff just say what they mean.."

"Everyone needs a hobby."

"So, we break the curse. Faith gets her strength back."

Giles nods. And then he leans back his chair, looking very tired.

"Lexi, are you absolutely certain that Faith isn't manipulating you? She has a past history…"

"No." I say, as firmly as I can. "No." And then, I sigh and say "but… even if she is, it doesn't matter. It doesn't. Because this is the right thing to do. The good thing. We are still the good guys, right Giles?"

Giles smiles sadly, and places his hand on my shoulder.

"Sometimes, surrounded by all this darkness, all this fighting, one can lose sight of why we are fighting. Thank you, Lexi, for reminding me."

"Well, it's good to know I am not entirely useless."

"You never were, Lexi. You never were."

That tender moment is broken when a giant candy pink and white rabbit appears at the shop window, violently pounding at the glass.

It's Anya, with a look of terror on her tear streaked, blood spattered face.


	32. Severed

Chapter 31

Severed

I am Alice. I am running after a white rabbit through a world of weird creatures, a mad hatter at my heels.

The trick or treating is in full swing and the streets of Sunnydale are packed with costumed mockeries of the dark things that have haunted my waking hours, but the only fear I feel is for my friend, for Willow. And I am running for her life.

Okay, so, I don't remember the details of Alice in Wonderland, but I am pretty sure she wasn't dressed as Wonder Woman carrying a battleaxe. And her mad hatter wasn't wearing a sombrero and carrying a chainsaw, but… shit…

The frat house is just like I remember it, the big two story affair practically hidden amongs a dense wall of well tended bushes and tall conifer trees. The doors and windows are shut. No, not shut… gone. Vanished, just like Anya had told us.

"The screaming. It's stopped." Anya says, as we reach the garden path leading up to the two story, wooden structure. Jack O' Lanterns grin light at us in the darkness. "The screaming stopped." She says, grabbing my arm, trying to convey her meaning. I already understood the implications.

"Willow is super capable, Anya, if she is…"

The sound of the chainsaw cuts me off from making a pathetic attempt at soothing her. It didn't even sound convincing in my head. I place my free hand over hers and squeeze.

Anya's story went like this. She and Willow had been at the Halloween party at Lowell House and Anya had gone to get them some fruit punch. When she returned, Willow had been talking to a boy. Anya felt a "possessive display" was in order and had put her arm around Willow and kissed her. The boy just lost it, started yelling at them and then ran upstairs. Willow had chased after him. A few moments later there were screams and bloodied, injured students had started running down the stairs. In the pandemonium, Anya had fled outside. Only, it seems Willow hadn't made it out. She tried to go back in but the doors and windows just collapsed in on themselves.

As we watch Giles cut a new door, I can feel it. That creeping sensation that sets your hairs standing on end. I look up at the sky. I look up at the full moon and I feel ice cold trickling through me.

It couldn't be Oz. He would never go out in a full moon. It couldn't be.

Could it?

My ears are ringing from the chainsaw as I step gingerly into the hall, and I feel even more exposed without my hearing. It is silent. Deathly, dead, silent.

I realise my grip on the battleaxe is too tight, remembering Giles's training… keep relaxed but firm, like you are holding a live bird. Not so loose to be disarmed, but not so tight to tire your hands. And of course, thinking about my axe reminds me it isn't silver. But that's okay, right? Because it isn't Oz. It cannot be Oz.

_But…_

No, shhhh brain.

_But… if it was._

Shhh.

_But if it was? Could you even swing? It's Oz, man._

"This appears to have been the foyer." Giles whispers.

"Yeah."I whisper back, pointing to the wall. "That was the door." The rectangle of wall is smooth and wallpapered over, as if nothing was ever there but wall. The old worn doormat set into a metal frame on the floor says otherwise. The floor is scuffed with bloodied footprints and littered with discarded drink cups. They stop at the skirting board, and as I get a closer look I see the edges of the dirt quivering slightly.

I prod my axe at the wall. A faint ripple emanates out, only noticeable by the wallpaper pattern.

Anya walks up boldly and vigorously rubs at the wall. She looks at her hand, which seems to quiver in a strange, fourth dimensional kind of way. A scowl.

"Not an illusion, a spatial translocation hex."

"In humble barkeep terms?" I say.

"This is a real wall. Real. See? But it doesn't belong here. It's from elsewhere, another place or time, or reality. It's been swapped out." She rubs her hand across the wall again.

"There, in the ripples." Giles says. "If you look carefully, you can see symbols".

"Oh see, that's just rude." Anya says. "A Gaelic demon ward. To keep us trapped. If I were still… you know… this would be rather more unpleasant for me."

"So it is a trap. To keep something supernatural inside." Giles offers.

"Great." I sigh, and look around. "The walls aren't the only change. There was a staircase there."

"We should stick together." Giles says. "It may change further."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, the fact the hole I cut in that wall is now a rather charming grandfather clock was my first hint."

"We're trapped." I groan.

"Well, I still have the chainsaw." Giles says. "Though the fuel is rather low. Before we cut another exit we should find Willow."

"So how do we do that in a big, creepy puzzle box house that may or may not contain a werewolf?"

Giles doesn't react to this. Clearly he had the same fears as I. Instead he just picks a doorway and leads on. Anya and I fall in step.

* * *

The boy hasn't been dead long. Judging from his size and smart attire, he was a resident of Lowell House. We find him in one of the winding, repeating corridors, slumped against the railing of what should have been the top of a staircase. His head and upper arms must have been on the staircase when it shuffled. The space where they should have been shimmers like when you glare at a light and look away. But whatever magicks did this didn't keep the circulation going. I found no pulse, could feel no breathing. He had soiled himself too, there is little dignity in death. I shook my head at my companions and stepped away from the body.

Finding the corpse just ate away my hopes of finding Willow even further. I felt my insides setting like concrete at the thought. As much as she had harmed me, as much pain as she caused, Willow had been my friend since Kindergarten and I felt like part of me was missing now she was cut from my life.

A sound is pricking at my attention. A muffled, ragged sniffling noise from behind us. My hackles up, I turn. Anya has heard it too, she is looking back down the corridor from which we just came. From around the corner, moonlight is shining in from a window we cannot find. This is so disorienting, and I feel dizzy. But the snuffling sound... well, it is phasing in and out, echoing, feeling close, and yet far. Where is it?

A hand grabs my arm. I nearly shit myself on the spot, but it's Giles. He is pointing to the wall behind us, only now it isn't a wall, it's a white painted door with a bloody hand print on the handle. The sound is definitely coming from within.

I ready my axe and nod to Giles, who slowly, cautiously edges towards the door. He reaches for the handle. He turns it.

The door swings open.

And what is revealed tears my heart to shreds.


	33. In The Blood

Chapter 32

In The Blood

The room is familiar to me, the common area where I played wall flower at the kegger the night I… well, it's the same space, only without the windows that took up the north wall. Fake spiderwebs adorn the corners and wall, and about the ceiling paper bunting of pumpkins in orange and black hang from the ceiling. A plastic cauldron sits in the middle of the room, adapted into a drinks cooler, packed about with dry ice that spews mist down and over the floor. And there, amongst it all is Buffy Summers.

She is slumped against the far wall, between where the windows should be, her legs lost beneath the crawling grey mists from the cauldron. Her arms are limp and her head is tilted back to rest against the wall, which is stained red with the blood matted in her hair.

And cradled in her lap is the limp form of Willow. And there is just so, so much blood.

I am dimly aware of Anya's anguished cries as Giles holds her. So it is on me. This is on me. I let my legs carry me forward, though the rest of me is dead and gone, and somewhere in those steps comes the dull, heavy thud of my axe dropping to the floor.

Buffy is breathing, ragged and slow. As I kneel beside her, her eyes slowly open and she lets out a sigh that sends a rivulet of blood from her lips.

"Giles, she's alive. Buffy, it's okay we found you."

"It's not okay." She says, weakly. "It isn't. Don't hate me. Please, don't hate me. I didn't… I should have…"

Her tears are fresh on her cheeks, but she isn't crying now. She looks down at Willow, stroking a hand over the limp girl's somehow unbloodied ginger locks. Her neck has been opened up by a row deep puncture wounds over her shoulder. She is hot to the touch, and though her pulse is hammering under my fingertips, no blood is spraying from her wounds.

"Giles! Get us out of here!" I scream. "Now!"

* * *

The night air has a razor edged chill on my sweat soaked, exposed flesh as I drag Willow's limp body outside and onto the lawn.

I work fast, tearing off the bloodied garments and assessing the damage, three deep lacerations on her arm (defensive wounds?) And an arc of puncture wounds over her shoulder. I staunch the blood.

Anya is silently kneeling beside Willow, a puppet with her strings cut. She just stares, her face ashen white, not a tear or anything. Just… Jesus that's a lot of blood. It cannot be hers, can it?

"It's you." Comes the words, so faintly I nearly miss it. It's Willow, looking up at me, her eyes glassy and pale. "I missed y …" she starts to say, but taps out, her lips going slack just for a moment before she coughs and jerks back awake. Her lips coated in a strange opalescent foam. "No." She says, shaking her head. "Don't."

"Paramedics are on the way." Giles says, jogging back from the payphone on the street. "Buffy, are you injured?"

"I couldn't stop them." I hear her mumble, "they just… they had these… guns and… she… she… "

"It's okay Buffy, just breathe. Can you tell me if you are injured?" Giles says. I don't hear a reply.

"The blood has stopped." I say, confused. "It's like it's closing but… is this a spell? Anya, did she cast a healing spell or…"

"Xander." Giles says. "Lexi… step away from her. Go wash your hands now."

"But Giles I need to…"

"Do it." He says, firm to the point of shouting, a command not to be questioned.

It sinks in then what he is trying to tell me. And I know what it is that bit her. And I know what it means. And… and… and reluctantly, I step away from Willow, and numbly stagger back. And somewhere inside, whilst staring at Willow's blackening fizzing blood on my hands, something in me breaks and my legs go slack, and my face is burning and tear soaked as I slump to the floor.

"It's okay." Willow says, dreamily "It's going to be okay. It doesn't hurt anymore."

I am aware that Giles is beside me, hand on my shoulder as my body is wracked with heavy sobs.

"Oh hey, everyone." Willow says, her voice soft and slurred. "Oz is back."

* * *

I have this grey blanket around me and a mug of tea in my hands and I don't remember exactly when or who gave me either. I am sitting on the curb, hunched over and exhausted, as paramedics and police whirl around the scene in a blur of movement and flashing lights.

Willow is inside the ambulance. I hear the squeal and thunk of the defibrillators, but I know she won't die. I know she will probably flatline for a bit, and then her pulse will suddenly come back hard and fast. Because that's how it works. And tomorrow she will run hot and hear voices, and itch and be delirious, and next month… Things will never be the same again.

The tea is mostly sugar, and I gulp it down anyways. I am aching and angry and numb all at once. Giles looks exhausted as he comes to sit next to me.

"Oz will never forgive himself." I say.

"He called me last week." Giles says. "He said he had found a way to control the wolf, through spiritual and herbal means, so he was able to ignore the call when the moon was full."

"He came back for Willow." I say. Giles nods. "And you didn't tell him she moved on."

"It wasn't my place." Giles says. "Maybe I should have."

"We need to track him down. Before he hurts anyone else. Do you still have the tranquilizer gun?"

"Lexi. Buffy said she fended him off whilst the other students fled. But then some soldiers dressed in black appeared and used some kind of, er, electric shock weaponry to pacify them."

"So where are they now?"

"That's just it. The men took Oz." The police tell me the fraternity house is empty, they searched it, and no signs of the men or Oz. They are questioning students."

"Where's Buffy?" I said.

"The ambulance took her away. She had several gun shot wounds."

I finish my tea, shuck off the blanket and stand.

"We need to get to work. Find out who they are. Find Oz." I say. "The house must have clues."

"No." Giles says. "I need to contact Joyce. Go home Lexi, get some rest, if you can. We will start tomorrow."

"Giles… I…"

"Lexi, it's just us now." He says. And that fact hits me between the eyes like a rock. He places his hand on my shoulder reassuringly and then with a nod, he bids me good night and wearily walks away.

"Well then. The earth is definitely doomed." I mumble.

Faith is deep asleep when I get back. I slip into the shower with my ruined, bloody costume still on and let my Halloween nightmare drown.


	34. Unclean

Chapter 33

Unclean

Xander comes home drunk and angry again. When the door slams shut, the shockwave travels through the rafters and rattles the glassware shelf above the sink. I wince, knowing what is to come and return to vigorously scrubbing at the pans. Try as I might, the caked on crud just won't come off. I know if I speak to them, they will become clean. But they will vanish and what will I have to cook with then?

Xander thunders into the room, ripping open the refrigerator and pulling a beer from the lightless, mouldy interior. The cap hits the floor in slow motion, heavy and ancient.

"How was work?" I say, mustering up the courage.

"What work?" He said, swallowing back. "Turned up at the building site and they had all gone. The foreman, the sparkies, the other carpenters… they just left. They all left me. Like you did."

"But the building?"

"That left too. Sucked down into a hole. Straight to hell. Typical. How's a guy supposed to earn a crust in a town like this?" He says. He wears a thick, plaid red shirt and brown workers pants, a carpentry belt hangs from his muscular hip. His hair slick with sweat and oil, his eyes sunken and dark like his fathers. His mother? She warned me not to marry him, but I took it as a bitter stab at her husband, not at the boy who had my heart and my body. And now the pan won't come clean and the fridge light is broken and he is drunk and angry again.

"This pan just won't get clean." I say.

"Well that's your fault. Isn't on me no more." He says, eyeing me coldly. He drinks from his beer.

"I need help."

"That's what he is for." Xander says, gesturing to the ornate metal cage shaped like a little victorian doll house. Inside Giles is sitting on a perch, reading from a book. His tweed and hair matted with dried white bird droppings and feathers.

"Hyenas" Giles reads "are feliform carnivoran mammals of the family Hyaenidae. They are known to drive off larger predators despite having a reputation in popular culture for being cowardly. Hyenas are primarily nocturnal animals, but sometimes venture from their lairs in the early-morning hours."

I turn back to Xander, wondering how exactly the librarian could be any help right now, and am met with that same look of dissapoint and contempt he gave me when I ran away. When I cheated on him. The look I deserve.

I look down at the dishes. If the pan wasn't getting cleaner then maybe the dagger would. I raise the two bladed, serrated monstrosity and set to work scrubbing at the blood.

"Careful you don't cut yourself." Xander says. "We both know you're clumsy."

"I am better these days. Besides, it's cursed for Slayers, not people like us."

"Hyenas feature prominently in the folklore and mythology of human cultures, and their body parts are used in witchcraft to…"

"People like us?" Xander says in a razor edged way that drags over my nerves. "What do you mean, people like us?"

"The female spotted hyena's external genitalia closely resembles that of the male."

"I… I meant not Slayers."

"As in sidekicks?"

"Well, more support Scoobies."

"As in the Zeppos." He says, through gritted teeth.

"Their dentition is similar to that of the canid" Giles says, speeding up, his voice trembling."but is more specialised for consuming coarse food and crushing bones.

"I didn't mean that." I say.

"I know what you meant. I know what you think of me. Why you try to run."

"Hyenas in popular culture are viewed as frightening and worthy of contempt. Hyenas are thought to influence people's spirit, and those possessed can be terrifyingly cruel and strong."

He is looming over me, his breath sour and his body stinking. His beady eyes glaring at me from the shadows. Just then, the lights fizzle out.

"Well." He says. "Someone forgot to pay the bills again." His huge hand seizes me by the back of my hair. "Ain't that just swell."

"Immortals don't pay bills. William is coming to make me his queen." I spit back at him, trying to inflict a little hurt before he does the same.

"Well, won't that be a fun little party? What is this? The dark scoobies? Willow the dyke werewolf. Anya the demon girl. Lexi the slut vampire. Buffy the 'too-good-for-us' ghost?" I guess you don't need a Zeppo in there, do you?" His grip tightens, forcing me to stand on tip toes.

"Please, you're hurting you."

His laugh is bitter and stinks of booze and mascot.

"Hurting you? Hurting you?! You left me. You left me, like they all did. But you stole my heart, Lexi, and my body, and my girl. And you dare say I am hurting you? You have no idea what pain is."

"Stop. I didn't. You are me…"

"...these dog-like hyenas were nimble-bodied, wolfish animals… but they became extinct…"

Xander's face contorts as the blade in my hand slides in, and I feel every inch parting the meat. My own stomach turns and I step away, afraid of what I have done.

Xander sways looking down at the handle protruding from his belly. Not in shock, but a mere curiosity. He snorts a laugh.

"I… I'm sorry." I say.

"Buffy's the liar." Xander says, "you're the honest one, remember?"

I am backing away, and now my back to Gile's cage. I watch Xander pull out the bloodied blade, without so much as a wince.

"Run." He says, brandishing the knife at me.

I try to, but my shirt is pinned. Giles has seized me by the collar. He shakes his head, his eyes sad and fearful.

"Run!" Xander bellows, a great gout of blood drops from his wound as he does. I scream at this and try to pull away. Not just from Xander but the warping darkness behind him… a hole that is forming, dragging at the kitchen, swallowing the furniture down and down.

I am watching this all on the big cinema screen, of course, my feet wedged over the red velvet seat in front of me so that my bucket of popcorn can rest on my lap.

"I've seen this film before." Faith says from the seat next to me. Her legs are leather clad and stretched out next to mine, she buries her hand in my bucket and pulls out a fist full of popcorn. "We both have."

"Yeah, but, do you think she will get away?" I say, indicating the woman on the screen. It's Buffy, now, not me. And Xander is Angel. Or Angelus, I guess. Acathala is yawning the destruction of the world behind her and their swords flash in the unholy light.

"Slayer's always get away, one way or another. And there is always another waiting in the wings."

"But she needs to live. She has to… we both need her."

"You're out of popcorn." Faith says and sighs, she stands. I see blood soaking through her Dingoes Ate My Baby shirt. Bullet holes. One. Two. Three. "I should get more."

"You won't come back."

"It starts like this." Faith said, pointing at the screen. On it Buffy is laying in a hospital bed among a mass of clear plastic pipes, her face covered with a foggy breathing mask. The heart monitor is beating out a weak rythm. "I told you we seen this film before."

"I don't want to be like you." I say. I hear the beep of the machine getting louder and louder, until it is filling my skull.

"It's all about choices. Unfortunately." Faith says. She stands up and glides out into the darkness. There is a high pitched alarm as the heart monitor detects a flatline. I need to go save Buffy. I have to…

As I stand to leave, the row is blocked by Spike, my blood still on his lips. I hear a rustle and see the entire audience has turned to stare at me. And every face has piercing yellow eyes and a wicked fanged smile.


	35. Knock, Knock

Chapter 34

Knock, Knock

"You look like hell." Faith says as I slump my aching body down across from her at the table. Clearly she has figured out the coffee machine, a mug is thrust into my hands.

"Thanks. You too." I say, raising my coffee in a salute. Faith smirks and turns back to the frying pan. "Are… you cooking me breakfast?"

"What? You think I can't look after myself, is that it princess? Been looking after myself since I was a sprat."

"You don't strike me as the Suzy Homemaker type."

"I ain't. Don't mean I can't apply heat to meat." A wicked grin that quickly fades when I don't smile back. "But seriously, you look as shit as I feel."

"Last night I… my…" I sigh, trying to run through both events and feelings in a format Faith can hear. I don't want to break our rule, but somehow all this silence makes truth a pale ghost. I place my mug down and tip my head back in frustration. "It was an awful night. And… I didn't sleep much, I got in late this morning but what little sleep I got was all freakshow level nightmares."

Faith slides into the opposite chair and places a fluffy as hell looking omelette down in front of me. Cheese is drooling out the side and it looks amazing. I shoot her a look that she seems to find satisfaction in.

"This is… wow. You can cook."

"Had a good teacher." She then puts on a prim English accent "learn a simple thing well, then move on, dear girl. Soon one will have a whole host of dishes that one can prepare to an excellent level."

"Is this the woman that took you in?"

"Diana. Yeah." She says with a mouthful of egg. "She died."

"I'm sorry."

Faith shrugs like it is a common occurrence, and we silently sit eating.

"Last night my two best friends ended up in hospital."

"Holy shit. They okay?"

"No. No, actually, they were in a critical condition last time I saw them." I say. "I don't know what to do."

"I'm sorry."

Oh, if you only knew who. Would you be sorry then? That thinking sours my stomach and makes me reach for my coffee. I take a few mouthfuls of the sweet, bitter liquid as Faith watches, concern carved into her brow. I am trembling, with repressed rage or fear or something.

"You gonna go see them?"

"We all had, uh, a falling out. I am not sure that I would be welcome." I say. "Scratch that, I am just so terrified that if I… I don't want..."

"Sokay, we can go together if you're freaked out." Her hand falls over the back of mine and caresses it before locking her fingers into mine. I shake my head. Because that would not only expose me to the truth about their fates, but also rip me away from the one good thing in my life.

I had a good thing in my life. I had Willow and Buffy. Three against the darkness. Well four, if you count Giles. Well… five because Cordy and… Oz. Angel too, I guess. Seven of us. Just like the samurai or the magnificent. And now? Number eight holds my hand. Unlucky eight. One too many, perhaps. So now it is just me. Just me.

My hand is squeezed and I look up into warm brown eyes.

"Faith." I say, drawing in a long, deep breath. "I feel so lost."

"Then come with me." She says.

"What?"

"Cut everything and everyone loose and just, restart. Come with me."

"Where?"

Faith shrugs with one shoulder, her smile is tinged with nervousness.

"Lexi, this thing we got going? It's good. Isn't it? That's why you wanted me to stay, right?"

"Yeah. It is."

"Had a lot of time to think and, I guess what I'm sayin' is, the deal is the same for me. I like this. I want this."

"You want me to go on the run with you?"

Faith lifts her coffee to her lips and takes a sip. The nod is subtle, but there, hidden behind the mug. I swallow myself and look down at her hand in mine.

"Lexi." Faith says. "Sunnydale owes us nothing. We can be new again. I got money, a stash of it from The Boss. We can go somewhere and… do this. But safe from them."

I admit, I slip into the fantasy for a moment. Of a cool house somewhere far, far away, with Faith and, for some reason, a big shaggy grey dog. The snow frosted air plucking her soft cheeks red as we walk around some night market eating street food and laughing about unimportant stuff. No care in the world about monsters and apocalypses, no fear of the night. No more nightmares. No more Slayers.

"What is it?" Faith says. "You don't want to?"

"I do." I smile sadly. "It's a nice dream. But that isn't how it works for us, is it?"

"Who says? Screw them. Girlfriend, we can live large. Grab life by the b-"

"Because you are The Slayer." I snap. Faith freezes, her hand draws away from mine. I catch myself using the singular. I feel like a traitor to Buffy, who may still be alive. "Because you are _one_ of the Slayers and we both know if you run those things out there win."

"How?"

I can't think of anything to say that doesn't feel like lying by omission. She nods.

"Our rule huh? Well, fine. However you know, you don't know that I ain't a Slayer no more. Besides, I was always second string. The-"

"Buffy is in hospital. For all I know she may be dead. She took multiple gunshots to the chest."

"You-?"

"The dagger she stabbed you with was cursed, which is why you aren't healing right or have any of your powers back. It was supposed to weaken her. Hell, for all we know it was why you were in a coma. The Mayor gave it to you to take her out."

Faith is on her feet in an instant, the collar of my oversized sleeping shirt balled in her fist. I am dragged forward, causing the plate to scrape under me. Her eyes are burning red with tears and rage. But I don't move to retaliate.

"You played me!" A hoarse growl.

"How?" I whisper.

Faith is trembling against me, her heat feels like it is scorching my own face. Her other fist is raised, wavering ready to smash down into me. Her eyes dart back and forth as she tries to understand.

"How have I played you?"

"You swore. You swore."

"No lies. But secrets are fine." I say. "I never lied to you."

"But…"

"Faith. I knew who you were when you came in the bar that night. I chose to help you. And I am still choosing that, regardless of my feelings for you. We can lift the curse. You can be strong again."

"Lexi… please." She says, shaking her head. "I… I… they know? They know I am here?"

"Giles does. He wants to help you."

"Bullshit. It's a trick. This is all some trick isn't it?"

"The council are gunning for you. Giles is no longer in the council. He got kicked out. He can help you if you let him."

"No." She says, swallowing. "No." I feel the grip at my collar tighten uncomfortably. Breath is becoming an issue. I place my hands softly on hers and feel the grip give a little.

"You saved me. I save you. That's the deal." I whisper. "Faith. You can make it all right again. You can be the hero you were supposed to be. And we can be together, if you want that."

Faith is shaking her head in tiny movements, her sad eyes have lost all anger.

The knock at the door shatters everything.


	36. The Shattering

Chapter 35

The Shattering

Faith looks terrified for just one moment, a cornered animal, and her eyes flash towards the window. A picture of me picking shattered glass out of Buffy's flesh comes on a wave of fear and I grab Faiths head with both hands and pull it back to face me.

I kiss my plea for trust into her.

Her hands soften and she comes to my lips, my hand stroking hers.

"Bathroom" I say. She looks at me the same as she did the first night when she realised where I was leading her. I draw back and straighten my clothes, picking up my coffee, and walk towards the door.

"Go." I mouth to her and I open the door only as far as the chain allows.

Everything about the two people standing in the hall tells me they are agents even before the FBI ID wallet is raised. Sharp but cheap suits, the jackets cut wide to hold a gun holster, glasses… the whole deal.

"Ms. Alexandra Hart?" The woman says. She was short, with light brown skin and thick wavy hair cut to her jaw, on her chin a pinkish scar like a question mark.

"Uhm. Yeah. Yes."

"Good morning, I am Agent Phillipa Clacy, this is Agent Esther Rosenberg of the F.B.I" she indicates her partner, a taller, older woman with white skin and dirty blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. "We are investigating the incident at the party last night."

"So quick." I say.

"We read your statement, may we come in and ask you a few more questions?"

I glance back into the room and back again. Faith is nowhere to be seen.

"Uh, actually my girlfriend isn't very well, I want to let her sleep. There is a coffee shop across the road, can we do it there?"

"Of course Ms. Hart." Says the woman, whose name I had already forgotten. "I could certainly use a coffee after my flight." She nods to the other agent who nods somewhat eagerly.

"One second." I say and close the door. I half expect them to kick it in as I throw on some clothes and shoes, but it doesn't happen.

I don't bother to tell Faith what is happening. Slayer hearing is formidable. With a deep breath I pull back the latch chain and step out the door.

* * *

The Espresso Pump is busy serving the morning commuters but lemme tell you there is nothing like two obvious FBI agents to clear some space. The first agent sits with me and the other goes to get us all coffee. The other flips through her note book.

"So Ms. Hart, you work at a night club… uh… Bronze… something."

"'The Bronze'. Just 'The Bronze'." I say, hearing my voice trembling. I swallow and try to relax.

"Oh good, I thought I missed it, I had to fly down this morning and I am still not completely awake yet to be perfectly honest." The agent smiles, scratching something out on her notes. "And you were at the party when…"

"My friends… Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg… are they… did…"

"We just came from the hospital, they are both still in a critical condition, I am afraid."

The other agent, Rosenberg, arrives with our coffees. She hands me the large ceramic mug and takes a seat opposite me.

"I know this must be difficult for you, but we are just here to help find out what happened to your friends. So any help you can give us is appreciated Ms. Hart."

"Of course Agent… "

"Clacy. But call me Phillipa please. May I call you Alexandra?"

"It's Lexi."

"Lexi. That's cool." Says Phillipa.

"I am Esther."

"Rosenberg. Kind of hard to forget considering."

"It makes this case hit a little more home for me, yes." Esther says with a little smile. "Willow seems to be recovering very quickly, if that helps."

"She was always a strong person."

"You are close?"

"Since always." I say, feeling guilt rising in me. I know I am shifting uncomfortably at this and curse my body to be still. It seems disinterested in my opinion.

"And Ms. Summers?"

"Best friends in high school. She moved here from L.A. We all went to Sunnydale High."

"That the one that blew up?" Says Phillipa, scanning her notes.

I nod, sipping my coffee. As if I needed more. I am tense and awake as I have ever been right now, my heart seems to be kicking into a whole new gear.

"You know Marcie Ross?" Agent Rosenberg says. I swallow and nod. "You know what happened to her?" She says. Phillipa Clacy gives her glare, which the older woman scowls at.

"No. She went a little crazy, right?"

"And Pete Clarner and Debbie Weeks?"

"Yeah. Not close, but Buffy dated Pete's friend Scott. So we had a few interactions."

"Were you there when he murdered Debbie?"

"Esther, can we focus on the party please?" Agent Clarner says. Ether ignores her again.

"A lot of unusual things happened at Sunnydale High, didn't they?"

"Esther, a word please." Agent Clarner stands and pulls the other agent aside. They step outside and begin talking. Somehow it makes me feel all the more agitated and I find my jaw clenching hard. I let out a breath and try and steady my hands on the table.

Faith is next. I just know it. Esther Rosenberg is digging and seems to be relentless. Nobody around here digs into the truth because they know better. Fear keeps the cops behaving stupid. I wonder if the absence of The Mayor means things are about to change. Some light may get poured into the darkness. I feel like she has a metal probe and it is hovering over a raw nerve. I glance back at the woman, and she is glaring back at me before turning her attention to Clarner.

I feel awful, like every muscle in my body wants out. My hands are shaking something fierce, I try to still them. Perhaps a distraction, I reach for my cup and with both hands, raise it to my lips.

Pain rushes through me, starting at my heart and streaking across my chest and out through my body like a searing star. Everything tenses, everything fall silent, and for a moment I am in darkness, cresting a negative wave like a reversed imploding orgasm.

I snap back to awareness just as the mug in my hands shatters into pieces that cascade in out in slow motion. The dark fluid blooming like a flower as the force ripples through it.

I smell the coffee and the particles of ceramic, I smell the paper sachets sitting in the dust filled pot on the table and the dried tomato sauce stain behind me and the people… oh… oh my god I am drowning in sensation.

Everything speeds up once more and I yelp as the coffee coats me. I stand, far too quickly, and I hear a crack from beneath the fixed table as it tilts back.

_No_.

_No_.

_Oh, nonononono_.

"Buffy!" I say, the name sounds crystal sharp in my ear.

And now I am running towards the hospital faster than I have ever been able to run before.


	37. We End We Begin

Chapter 36

We End. We Begin

I don't give much thought on how I know where exactly Buffy is, I just know I do. And as I thread my way through the hospital, that feeling grows stronger, as does my sense of dread.

I find Joyce pacing in the hallway, distraught. Giles is sitting on one of the many chairs fixed to the wall, slumped back, his hand to his eyes.

I skid to a halt, my heart pounding loudly but painlessly in my chest. I am barely out of breath, my legs feel rubbery and yet I stand solid and effortlessly. I hate that I know what this means. I hate everything about it.

I approach Joyce, fearfully, but she opens her arms to me and I embrace her.

"Xander." She says. I don't correct her, of course, I just hold her frail body in my arms.

"Lexi." Giles says, he is standing by me now, and I angle my head to him, bracing myself for the words. "I am afraid They have had to put Buffy into an induced coma."

"But she is-" I start to say, but I cut myself short, for Joyce's sake.

"Her brain was swelling, they had to induce a coma to protect her." Joyce said. "My poor baby. My little girl."

I hold Joyce and bring us both over to the seats.

"And Willow?"

"I don't know, they won't tell us anything. We are not family, you see."

"Giles, what about Tara and Anya?"

"Anya threw a tantrum when they wouldn't let her in to see Willow, she was escorted out by security. Tara took her home when she…" Giles trails off. Joyce stiffens in my arms. They are looking back down the hall at the figure of a girl.

A dark figure, like a shadow puppet against the sterile white hall. Faith.

I stand, and walk over to her, unsure of what to say.

"You felt it too." I said. She nods, her face pale, her eyes red.

"She's…"

"No." I say. "Maybe for a second. But she is in a coma now."

Faith breathes out, a wave of complex emotions playing across her features.

"So" Faith says. "Guess you're this year's girl."

I shake my head at the idea, lost for words. I feel tears begin to flow.

"I don't want this." I say. "I just want Buffy back. I want you."

"Life ain't like that though, is it?"

"I can't be a Slayer." I say. "I can't. I am not strong like you. Like Buffy. I can't."

"Faith." Giles says quietly, politely. I turn to see him behind me. He looks like he hasn't slept at all.

"Heya G.Man. Long time."

"It is good to see you."

Faith shifts uncomfortably, her jaw set. She looks at me, then back to Giles.

"Buffy gonna live?" She says. Giles takes a deep breath.

"Faith… " he says, his eyes filling with tears, his words are uncharacteristically emotional. "I don't know. She looks so... Oh my she looks just so..."

Faith claws her fingers through her lank hair and sighs, and shakes her head and laughs.

"Yeah well, take it from me. Coma ain't so bad for girls like us." She shoots her eyes at me.

"Giles. Buffy must have died for a little while because…"

"You've been called." He says. There isn't a question or a hint of ridicule in his voice.

"I think so." I say.

"Faith." Giles says. "We need your help."

"What for? You got your replacement already. All wrapped up in a pretty little bow." She spits.

"Oz is missing, Willow may be too for all i know. Whatever we are up against…" I say but Faith cuts me off.

"Welp, don't you just know all the cool kids?" She says bitterly

"Faith, please." I say, reaching for her arm. She bats it away, staggering to keep her balance.

"Don't touch me. You are just like her!" She then snorts a laugh. "Well, now you really just are like her." She sneers and storms off down the corridor, smashing wide the swinging doors.

Giles holds my shoulder, holding me back.

"Let her go. She just needs some time."

"Oz doesn't have any time. Whoever has him… those soldiers, they could be doing… who knows what."

"Where are you going?"

"To check on Willow. I have lost enough people I care about today."

* * *

The staff try to hold me back, to stop me, but I drag them with me as I enter the room.

"Stop, let her in. She's family" Willow says and after a little heated discussion I am in at her bedside and the staff leave warily. Willow using guilt about her absent family to tip the scales.

"So." Willow says, her skin is aglow and she watches me with vibrant, clear eyes. "What's the what, ole buddy. You… you're still my ole buddy, right?"

"Of course I am Wils. You look better. Amazingly so, in fact."

"Yeah, apparently pesky mortal wounds are no longer much of a problem for me. Unless silver is involved or yunno, troublesome beheadings."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, I.. It's not so bad when you put it in perspective. I mean, of all the people at the party who could have been turned, at least I had previous experience with the whole wolfy sitch."

"Of all the people." I chuckle bitterly.

"Hows Buffy?"

"Buffy had to be put into a coma. She's alive, but… it's pretty serious. And she kinda died for a bit."

"She's gonna pull through Xander. Faith did."

"Yeah." I say with a frown. I wonder if Faith turned round or kept on going. I couldn't blame her if she did. I had to face facts, everything was different now. Everything was broken. "So much has happened Willow, I don't know where to begin. And whoever has Oz… whoever shot Buffy… we have to find them. They have to pay."

"Time to get the Scoobies back together."

"Wanna bust out of here?"

"Thought you would never ask." She says slipping quickly out of the bed and pulling the drip from her arm. I try not to notice the hole closing faster than I have ever seen Buffy's wounds heal. She hums at the sight and turns to me, pleasantly surprised.

I approach the window with some trepidation, unsure of what I can now do. I place my hand on the steel bars keeping it restricted. It feels as hard a steel usually does, but as I apply force and it reaches the upper limit, something kicks in, like an overdrive, suddenly it feels like there is so much more room to push harder, and the metal changes texture, changes solidity, groaning as it gives. The bar housing snaps and the window swings wide.

Now Willow is shocked.

"It's a long story." I say.

"So, Buffy kinda died for a bit" she says. I nod, sheepishly. Willow looks me up and down. "Huh."

* * *

Anya and Tara are at The Magic Box when we arrive, sometime around noon.

Tara lets us in. She is dressed in a deep blue fuzzy sweater and a long black skirt, her mousy hair now faded blue, cut to shoulder length. Her face is puffy from tears, but she smiles warmly as we arrive.

"Hi Tara." I say.

"Hi."

"I have to apologize. I didn't know you and Buffy were dating."

"I know. Sh-she explained. It's okay."

"I am so very sorry how I acted." I said.

"It's o-okay, really Lexi." She says. "She had a hard time coming out, her… previous same sex relationship didn't g-go exactly smoothly a-and it took a w-while for her to come to terms. S-she wasn't sure how any of you would react."

"Ironic. We are all into girls." I say, and step into the shop. "Strange how things work out."

It occurs to me that Buffy's ex in question is now my ex. I feel a stab of guilt thinking about the look of betrayal Faith gave me. I am just like Buffy. In so many ways. Wounds rubbing on wounds.

I hope Faith is okay right now.

Willow and Anya are not okay.

"Hey you." Willow says, awkwardly. Anya hovers, several feet back.

"Hey." She says.

"Oh." Willow says, her face falling. "I see."

"It's nothing personal." Anya says. "I just feel uncomfortable with the idea of becoming a werewolf."

"Anya, I dated a werewolf for two years, and I never…" Willow trails off and looks down at herself. Tara and I hover, both unsure of what to do in the situation. "Well, I guess the adult thing is to talk about this later, after we save Oz."

"Your werewolf ex boyfriend who tried to kill us all."

"Anya, enough!" I say, stepping forward. "Oz is our friend, he is a good guy, the best guy, and he is in trouble. Buffy is in a coma because of these people. And Giles is stretched to his limit. Please."

Anya is gaping like a fish, trying to process what is going on. She crosses her arms. Tara walks over and loops her arm around Willow's shoulders, guiding the stunned girl to a seat at the round table.

Anya tentatively takes a seat, the furthest from Willow, I notice. I sigh and rub my hand over my weary face. I feel sick to my stomach with grief, but there is a sort of barrier sitting between me and it right now. My eyes rake over the room like it is new to me. Even far across the room every label, every book title is crisp and perfectly legible. And the colors? They are all vibrant and rich with complexity. I see it all, and it somehow fits into my mind. I rub my eyes and lean against the counter to steady myself.

"I had The FBI at my home asking me questions about the party." I say.

"Clacy and Rosenberg?" Willow says. "They talked to me too."

"Have they found out anything?" I say.

"Will they interview me?" Anya says fearfully. "I don't have a story worked out yet. What do I say?"

"Rosenberg seems to be clued up on Sunnydale spooky goings on. She brought up Pete. And Marcy too." I say.

"If she has dug up anything will she have files on it? Maybe there is a clue there." Tara offers. She turns to Willow. "Could you hack into them?"

Willow nods, distractedly. She catches herself and then replies "yes, of course."

"We could also do with a history of the house, floorplans, who owns it." I say. "Tara, Anya, whoever did those wards will have more magic like that no doubt. What can we do to counter it?" Tara turns to Anya and shrugs.

"Moresley's cross?" She says.

"Invocation of HHhHgGralgfax." Anya replies. "Maybe Sinostrian Tar."

"Ooh, I have a summons for Sinostria. We could also do…w"

"Wings of Fraeci." Anya says excitedly. Tara jumps up and rushes to the book shelf at the back of the store. Anya rushes to the doorway leading to the cellar.

I look back at Willow, who is scowling at the computer, her fingers drumming as she waits for it to boot up.

"You okay?" I offer, weakly.

"Mmm hmmm"

"She will come around." I say, looking back through the shop window and out into the streets of Sunnydale. "Just give her some time."

Willow nods, and smiles falsely. She then starts tapping away at the keys. She checks something and then frowns.

"Xander, can you do something for me?"

"Yeah Wils, anything."

"Can you go down into the basement and prepare the manacles?" She says, not looking up. "And maybe find Gile's tranquilizer gun? Says here the moon is still full tonight."

I nod and push myself off the counter, heading for the basement. And my thoughts turn to a memory of Faith running straight at the werewolf. I look down at my slim cotton sleeve and sigh.

Poor Willow.

Giles returns later that night to find us all around the table, books out, maps strewn, half eaten pizza boxes stacked on the counter.

Only I notice the soft smile he makes before his business face returns.

"Good evening everyone. Buffy is stable, but she isn't out of the woods yet, I am afraid. I managed to get Joyce to go home and get some sleep."

A blood churning growling emanates from the basement, but by this stage, I am used to it, but Giles seems alarmed.

"That's Willow." I say, standing and placing the rifle I had across my lap onto the table. "I got her out of the hospital before the FBI could reach her."

"Very wise."

"We threw her a mummy arm to give her something to chew on." Anya says. "The one from the bargain bin, of course."

"And Faith?"

"No idea. She may be at home, I haven't been back."

"Faith?" Tara says, looking up from her book. "T-The o-o-other Slayer?"

"Yeah." I say, stretching the crick out of my neck. It then occurs to me I have another thing in common with Buffy. "Soooo I have been secretly looking after Faith at my place." I sigh.

"Faith, who tried to kill everyone and help the Mayor's Ascension?"

"And while I am confessing I'm… I was, I mean, sorta involved with her."

"Romantically?" Tara says, somewhat stunned.

"Surprisingly? Yes." I say. I pull myself up on the counter, effortlessly landing exactly where I planned to. This is so infinitely wigsome. I gesture to the audience. "You may now shower me with all the insults, stones and rotten fruit I deserve."

"Anything else you are hiding from us?" Tara says.

"No!" I say, emphatically. Pause. "Yes." I look over at Tara and wince. "So did Buffy tell you about the time she fought The Master and sort of died for a bit?" I say. Tara nods, placing her book down nervously. "And how it triggered the next Slayer to be called?"

"Kendra. Who then died and we ended up with psycho killer Faith. Who apparently you have been having secret psycho killer sex with." Anya says.

"Tara, don't be alarmed but… well, Buffy must have uh… just for a little bit… but she is stable now… but… I… "

"Everyone, " Giles says, placing his hands on both my shoulders. "Lexi here is the new Slayer."

I swallow at all the stunned looks.

No pressure at all.


	38. Crash Mats

Chapter 37

Crash Mats

The back room is long and narrow, with shafts of moonlight streaming down through the slit windows onto crash mats. The walls are stained and streaked with soot from what I guess was one of the several fires that had previously consumed The Magic Box. A taped up heavy bag hangs pale and grim from its chains.

I stride onto the mats and stop, placing my hands on my hips, then turn to Giles who is closing the door behind him.

"This is crazy, Giles. I can't be a Slayer." I say. "Me. Me? Me. Me, Giles. You've met me. You know what I am like."

"A very capable, very kind, very brave young lady… well, now."

"And that's another thing. Slayers are all girls. I think it is fair to say I have not been a girl for as long as the vast majority of the girls my age, right? How can I be chosen? There are millions of girls out there. Millions!"

"Lexi, please, just breathe."

I swipe my fingers through my hair, and the tinkling, burring sounds I hear as I do so is maddening in its detail. I hear the mats compressing beneath my sneakers, and the back and forth wail of air moving past the wall outside as cars pass.

"Everything is so… this is… Giles, how am I not going mad here?"

"Breathe. Start with just that. Simply close your eyes, and breathe. Nothing else right now." He says, his voice even and calming.

"You start calling me 'grasshopper' and I swear Giles… "

"Lexi."

"Okay, I am breathing here." I shudder and shake out my limbs, and close my eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out. I can do this. Simple. Like me. Breathe in. Breathe…

"There. Your awareness of your body is far deeper now, and with that awareness, in time comes control. It may overwhelm you to begin with, but you will adjust to your new normal very quickly."

"My new normal?" I sigh, and open one eye. "Giles my new normal is nowhere near normal. My new normal is fighting for my life every night, isn't it?"

"I am afraid so." He says. Giles sits down on the pile of crash mats and gestures for me to join him. I sit and then fall back so I am staring up at the rust stained ceiling.

"So, this is how it was for Buffy." I say.

"And for every girl in your line. Generation after generation." Giles says. "You are The Slayer, Lexi. And as much as I wish you did not have to go through this, I happen to think The Powers That Be have made an excellent choice in you."

I look at the man sitting beside me, this kind, brave, intelligent man who has saved me time and time again. A man who has devoted himself to saving the world from darkness. Someone who has always been there for me, and has never raised his hand to me. And I realise then why I do not pine for my father or my mother at all. Because he and Joyce became those figures in my life. I think of Faith and her watcher Diana, and how she smiles when she talks about her. And the numbness she summons to her eyes when she talks of her death. Giles sits in silence as I think, watching.

My Watcher.

"One simple dish." I mutter to myself and stand. Giles looks confused at this. I walk over to the center of the room. "Okay G Man, let's do this. Where do we start?"

Giles stands and straightens his shirt, then faces me.

"It begins here. Into every generation a Slayer is born…"

* * *

It was decided Anya watch over Willow for the last part of her transformation. And as much as I felt uncomfortable with the wedge that Willow's new situation had driven into their relationship, I had another duty to perform. I felt I had to escort Tara back to campus safely.

The girl had changed since last I saw her, her blue hair seemed to have come with a new wave of self confidence, and though her stammer still peppered her sentences, she no longer blushed and shied away when they appeared. She seemed to own them as part of her self, and that self was slowly evolving out of her traumatic, conservative upbringing. She walked taller, and more at ease. I could see the first glimpses of the scoobies thousand yard stare forming. She was taking Buffy's dire situation calmly and bravely, despite her eyes still showing the red ravages of many tears.

"I like the blue. 's cool." I say, to break the awkward silence as we begin the trek back to the University.

"Buffy talked me into it." She smiles. "I always wanted to do something like this. I made the mistake of telling her one day." I chuckle at this, remembering how Buffy can be.

"Did the lip come out?"

"Big time."

"None shall defeat The Summer's Pout." I say and we share a smile. "I was helpless to resist." I wince, and turn to the girl by my side "I really didn't know."

"It's okay. Really. So? You're in love with Buffy too. I can't blame you. She is super easy to fall in love with."

"I _was_ in love with her. But, for better or worse, I fell for another Slayer."

"Why worse? Love is a beautiful thing."

"Because I lost Faith. If I ever really had her. She doesn't know who I really am. Everything we had was based on lies. Well, no. Not lies. Just a few carefully selected truths."

"I'm sorry." Tara says. We walk on for a little while before she finally voices what is sitting on her tongue. "I-I never met her. Sh-she must really be s-someone sp-special. B-buffy never really g-ah-g-got over her."

"Yeah." I sigh. "She is."

"What's she like?"

"Hard to know. There are, sorta three Faiths. Like one of those medieval towns you see in Gile's books. You know the ones? With the outer walls and the moats, then the village, more walls and moats and then you get to the castle?" I pull a strained smile.

"No, I am following. Go on."

"She is all loud and bold and full of innuendo- that's the first wall. Once you are past that she is smart, jack knife smart- like Buffy is, but, street smart, she didn't get to go to a good school. She has real insight, funny as hell, loyal to a fault to the people who show her kindness. Well… unless you break her trust."

"And the castle?"

"I am sorry Tara, what I saw there? What she shared? That's personal."

Tara nods and smiles sadly. She slips her hands into the pockets of her blue sweater and slouches a little. I see the old Tara coming back.

"Being a Slayer is… I can't explain it, it's like this huge resource of strength just sitting within me. Like a cave or a, I don't know, like it's all folded up inside me ready for when I need it."

"That must be amazing."

"Weird. Terrifying. But it's powerful Tara. And Buffy has all that too. And more, because she knows how to tap into it."

Tara nods, following what I am saying. Her lop sided smile is grateful and warm.

"Sun's peaking over the horizon." She says. "I can take it from here. Thank you, Lexi."

"Anytime." I say. "So, while our girl is temporarily down for the count, would you do me the honour of officially being one of my Scoobies? I can't do this without you."

"Of course. I've got your back, Lexi Hart." Tara says, over her shoulder. And as she walks off across the field towards the orange brick buildings nestled in the trees, I feel for the first time I may just be able to do this.

As the pathway opens up from the dense trees and bushes that seclude Lowell House, I am greeted with the sour stench of ash and melted plastic. I break into a jog.

The walls of the fraternity house are blackened, with the roof broken like a spine, collapsed in so that beams point to the grey sky like so many ribs. I hurdle the police tape and come to a stop by the porch where I kissed Buffy that horrible night. The front door is sitting at the bottom of the porch steps, the inside panels scorched and blistered, the hinges torn to shreds. I don't approach closer, for it is clear there is little left to see. The few remaining walls are black and pitted with deep impacts.

The fire would have taken every scrap of evidence or clues with it.

"Damn it."

* * *

I am exhausted by the time I get home, my clothes stink of acrid ash and the sour smell of my own stale sweat. Everything magnified to oh-my-god levels.

I wearily pad up the stairs to my apartment and find the business card of Agent Clarner sucked into the frame. A ball point pen message scrawled on it with extremely neat handwriting.

Please call when you have a moment. I just want to talk about Lowell House.

With a groan, I take the card and slip my key into the lock. And once again I am terrified by what could lie behind it. I can do this. I can deal with this.

I open the door.


	39. Husk

Chapter 38

Husk

The broken standing lamp flickers light across the scene of destruction. Shelves collapsed, books and toys scattered where they fell. A chair now little more than so many future stakes. In my kitchen, I wearily nudge closed the refrigerator door, noting the huge dent in it. Knives and plates litter the floor.

I am too bone tired to care right now, or to process, I just need a shower and sleep.

The bathroom is thankfully untouched and as pristine-ish as I left it. So, maybe my pristine may vary from yours; but don't judge me, I am not in the mood.

I run the shower and then peel off my clothing and dump it into the hamper. I recall a truck stop bathroom some distant time ago, perhaps my new sense of smell will make all bathrooms smell that bad. No wonder Buffy was always pristine with just a subtle hint of fragrance. It wasn't restrained taste, it was necessity. And, I remember, that truckstop was the first night I saw my new face; the first night I saw Lexi, or at least, the girl that was to become her. I look up at my reflection.

The girl looking back isn't as ripped as I feel, no muscles like steel cables, no new bulges, just soft, feminine flesh over toned muscle from manual labor and my training with Giles. I remind myself this isn't some bite from a radioactive spider, a Slayer is supposed to look like a victim, supposed to be attractive to those that would feed on us.

Her face, if anything, has changed. A hardened stare, reddened slightly from being on the verge of grief and terror, but hardened nonetheless.

I am naked before myself, and its strange, I don't feel a pinch of alienation about my body now for it's sex. No, all the alienation is coming from something darker and bigger than me.

And as I watch, I feel something moving inside me, behind my eyes like a crouched shadow. Something raw, something savage, something that urges me look away.

Who the hell am I now? What the hell am I now? I glance back into the ruined apartment and sigh. Alone. I am alone now. And I am starting to understand the weight of the sentence "one girl in all the world."

The water tumbles down over my body like liquid mercy. I press my forehead to the ceramic and make a deal with myself that I can cry now. But naturally, no tears come. Perhaps they all drained down into the pit of my stomach, who can say? But regardless I wait for emotions and hormones to take me and come up dry. Well, wet, but you get the point.

Radioactive spider or no, something isn't sitting well with me, and I feel a strange nagging sensation that builds until I cannot ignore it. I shut off the faucet.

The refrigerator door has swung open again, slowly rocking back and forth on its damaged hinges. I approach and close it, running my fingers across the damage. It isn't a boot mark. It's too high, wide and angled down. The door is folded slightly, and as I push it shut, I can see it isn't from the blow bending against the frame. It's like something pushed it too hard open, and it impacted something. I look down and notice the droplets of blood among the debris. The chefs knife is on the floor, but the block isn't.

What kind of tantrum does this?

I screw back in lamp light, wincing briefly at its brightness on my new eyes. The shelves have snapped in the middle, but only the lower two. Everything else is perfect. Why stop there? Why not bring down all of my possessions and stomp on them of she hated me so much? I would. I mean, Little Boba Fett is sitting calmly watching me from the third shelf next to my signed Clash of The Titans annual.

I step back and survey the room, trying to ease the chill sensation in my veins. On the kitchen table is a small stack of green bills fixed with a paper band. Crisp. Unused. Christ, there must be a thousand dollars here. That makes no sense.

I find her message on the whiteboard, laying on the debris. It says:

_4 the medicine_.

The 'c' and second 'e' are reversed. During our silent days, I noticed when Faith wrote, some of her letters would start to flip. I figured it was dyslexia. Regardless this message was definitely from her.

None of this felt right. And I ran through several scenarios in my mind, looking around the scene. This wasn't rage. This was a fight.

I look down at the box on the floor, its contents spilling out from the taped down lid. And when I see the Playstation my heart sinks.

* * *

Giles opens the door to my hammering, his eyes bleary, his dressing gown inside out. But he doesn't chastise me for the savagely early visit, he ushers me in silently, a look of concern on his face.

I hurriedly explain as he, bless him, prepares the ridiculously but necessarily strong coffee situations like these demand. He listens carefully, and nods as I run through the evidence for my conclusion.

"Faith has been abducted." I say, "my guess is the masked soldiers or the FBI. They left a card in my door, saying they want to talk about Lowell House. Which, by the way, is now a big smoldering pile of ashes."

"Dear lord."

"It was a cover up. It was packed with a serious amount of incendiary bombs Giles."

"And you know this how?"

"Same way I knew how to get the bazooka for The Judge- my soldier days, courtesy of Ethan Rayne. Instant Private Benjamin. It has all the hallmarks of a bombing, trust me."

Giles sits in sober thought for a moment, then taps his finger on the table. He says "there is a third possible situation, and that is The Watcher's Council somehow tracked Faith down."

"Why would they torch Lowell House?"

"I suspect that was the other party. But you are missing the terrifying aspect of The Council being involved. What of they find out Buffy is in a coma?" He says.

"They will kill her." I gasp. "To see if she will spawn a new Slayer."

"This is a terrible risk to all of you, Lexi. Faith, Buffy and yourself are at great risk if they find out that stopping a Slayer's heart regardless of if they are the last triggers a calling."

"They will want to build an army." I say, slumping back into my chair. "And they may already have Faith."


	40. Misery Inc

Chapter 39

Misery Inc

(Aka Misery Loves company)

Buffy Anne Summers was pronounced dead at 7:30 am. Well, actually it was around 1pm… a few milliseconds after Willow hit return on her laptop. She leaned back, staring at the words on the screen in sober silence. I rest my hand on her shoulder and give it a little squeeze.

"I know this is fake, but it feels awful doing it… like… like I am giving up on her already or something." She says, her fingers finding mine.

"This is to give her a fighting chance." I say. Behind me Giles picks up the phone of the magic box and dials.

"Hello Gwyneth, I am sorry for the hour of my call. No, no that's not necessary. Please inform The Council that Ms. Summers did not recover from her injuries. She passed away sometime this morning. Yes. No, but for what it is worth thank-you."

He hangs up, and I slump into the chair next to Willow, feeling sleep tugging at me. None of these magic books on the reading table suit my requirements. Willow starts thundering away on the keys.

"What are you doing?" I yawn.

"Hmmm? Me? I just gave Joan Hamill full paid medical insurance cover for three years, and…" she thwaps a few more keys and says "backdated it three years to be sure."

The shop bell rings. Anya enters, paper bag lunch in hand. She surveys the room, and noticing Willow, then backtracks out the door and closes it behind her.

"Want me to kick her ass?" I say. "Cause I can do that now. I think."

"Appreciated, but the answers still no." She sighs. "I have to respect her decision. Take it like a big girl. It's simple enough to understand; she doesn't want to date a werewolf."

I shake my head. Willow is amazing, it just doesn't sit right that such a minor thing could end it. Oz and Willow were fine all that time, all but for one to three days a month. If her bite breaks skin, you got a problem, but that's all. I can't believe anyone could leave Willow. A change of subject is in order.

"So… Joan Hamill?" I say.

"Buffy always loved Dorothy Hamill." Tara says, returning from the kitchenette with a mug of soup. "She took me ice skating a lot. Sh-She was really good. What did I miss?" Tara says, sitting next to me.

"Moping." Willow says. "I-it's a group mope, you're welcome to join in."

"That's a nope on the mope. I am trying my best to stay positive." Tara says. "Sh-she would want that."

"And I am trying to stay awake. Apparently not included in the Slayer Package is unlimited mileage. I am starting to understand Buffy's coffee addiction."

"Go home Lexi. Get some rest." Giles says. "We will let you know if Willow finds anything." I nod gratefully and pull myself to standing, rubbing Willow's shoulders again as I pass. Then something occurs to me.

"Wait, does this mean I have to… like… patrol tonight? Is that a thing I do now?"

"Eventually, but you will need basic training before I am confident you can go alone." Giles says. "Besides, the last few days have been… rather rough. I think rest is the best option."

"I work nights. This is going to wreck everything in my life." I groan. "It already claimed my beloved refrigerator."

"Want me to shunt a couple of thousand dollars from some asshole pharmaceutical bigwig into your account? I can do it without it being traced. It's not like they would notice." Willow offers.

"With the FBI sniffing around me? Yeah, that wouldn't look suspicious at all." I groan. Then I remember the wad of money Faith left for me. "Look, I am okay for now. I will sort something out."

"C-Can this theoretical pharmaceutical baron, say, pay off my student loans?" Tara says. Willow smiles and cracks her knuckles.

* * *

I find Anya at the diner, in the same booth we had our talk in. She stares miserably at her plate of fries.

"Go away." She says, not looking up.

"I don't get it." I say.

"Go away."

"You throw a tantrum when they wouldn't let you see her, security had to throw you out" I say. "Then you 180 and dump her."

I sit down opposite her. She stabs her fry into the sauce but doesn't eat it. She turns it over like it is the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Go away." She sighs. "Please? Was it because I missed the 'please'?"

"Anya, talk to me."

"Because sometimes I forget to say 'please'. And people act weird and Willow always reminds me when I should say 'please', and 'thank-you' and all those other stupid words that make no sense to me, and… and now... now who will remind me?" She sniffs. "Who will remind me to say 'please'? Or to explain things to me, and make me feel better when everything is so overwhelming and confusing, and why Lexi? Why did she have to chase after him?"

"You're scared." I sigh. "Not of the wolfy part at all."

"Please? Please go away?" She looks up, eyes glistening in the garish neon light.

"You're scared of her mortality. You are afraid if you care about someone you will get hurt."

"Please?"

"Okay, I will go." I say softly, and slide out of the chair. "But… Anya, if someone dies, you lose them and it hurts. This way? You lose them and it hurts. Only you don't have to. And it hurts them too."

"She… is she okay?"

"Her world just got turned upside down. Which is why you should finish up eating, order her something to eat, then take it to her. Talk to her, Anya." I say. She lowers her head, and once again stares at the sauce coated fry.

"This is all so… painful and hard and… difficult."

"It is like that for all of us. That's why it's nice to have someone who understands. Even for a little time. It hurts less and its a little less lonely. You and Willow understand each other, right?"

"And Faith is that for you? Someone who understands you?"

"More than ever." I sigh. "Trust me. Talk to Willow. It will make it better."

Anya nods. I nod. And I take my leave.

"Lexi?

"Yeah."

"Should I, like, find her some nice dog food or a bone or something?" She says, her face dead straight.

"Maybe stick to fries and a sandwich."

* * *

The warm sand squeaks under my toes as I walk towards the sea. The sun hangs so impossibly low on the sky, it is almost kissing the horizon. The light is a buttery, mellow orange, so soft that I can stare into the sun without blinding. The distant pier shimmers like an illusion. The tide is going out. Maybe it will come back one day.

Suddenly, I shiver and my left arm shoots out on its own to meet the incoming projectile. A loud thwack, and I find my fingers firmly gripping a small brown football.

"Oooh, nice catch." Buffy says, approaching from the dunes. She is clad in a pink slip, which ripples gently in the cooling breeze.

"This feels weird. Like, it is coming from somewhere bone deep. Is this like one of those…"

"Slayer dreams." Buffy says, her beautiful lips curve into a sad smile. "I was expecting Faith, and more house work. This is a nice change." She says, closing her eyes and feeling the sun on her face. "Shame the suns going down."

I look around. We are alone on the beach as far as my new eyes can see.

"Faith visits you? In your sleep?"

"Sometimes." Buffy sighs. "We draw from the same well."

"Is that why you never got over her?" I say, turning the ball over in my hands, feeling the realness of the texture, the minute details. "Because you still see each other in dreams."

"You know about that huh?" Buffy says. She sits down on the sand, folding her slip under her bottom. I pick a spot next to her and sit. The dream has me in a black one piece swimming costume, a purple and blue sarong tied about my hips. It ripples slowly in the dream winds. "So, I guess it's your turn now."

"I still don't quite believe it."

"Denial. First step on the Kübler Ross Slayer cycle. Next comes anger. Then depression. Then unhealthy relationships with the undead." She says. I am trying not to think about Spike's lips on my neck, the feel of his tongue lapping hungrily as I gushed into his mouth.

"Then bargaining?"

"Bargain hunting." Buffy smiles, and her hand snakes out to clasp mine. "She talked about you, when she was here. I think she loves you."

"Me?" I shake my head. "No. You're wrong. She hates me."

"Love, hate. Fighting, Fuhhh- The other 'F' thing. Maybe that's how it goes for us? There was never supposed to be two Slayers. Maybe we are all just tangled up in each other.

"I ruined everything." I say, drawing me knees up to my chin. I can taste the sun lotion and salt. "Now they have her. And we can't find Oz."

"Help is on the way." Buffy says with a smirk.

"What? Why, that look?"

"You'll never guess who." She chuckles, and then turns her gaze to the horizon. "Sun's going down. Not long to go. Tell Tara I love her, and that 'Miss Kitty Fantastico is a dumb name, but screw it Blue, let's go for it."

She squeezes my hand and then stands, pulling me to my feet. Her skin is golden in the dying light, her eyes lost in shadow.

"This was nice." She leans forward and places a kiss on my cheek.

And I wake up.

* * *

The evening is warm and the air perfumed with the maple sweet smell of dry leaves. But a sharp icy scent on the occasional breeze heralds that Winter is closing in on Fall.

I called Giles and found we had bubkiss on Lowell House or those investigating it. Apparently Quintin Travers, a real dirtbag in the Watcher's council called to confirm Buffy's death. Other than that, we had nothing to go on.

I have a few hours before work, and decide to go in. My body is just bubbling with nervous energy and I need something to do. One glance at the ruins of my kitchen and I decided a jog up to Double Meat Palace may just be the answer.

I take my bag of food to the park bench that overlooks the south west side of the town. You know, the one where you can see down to the docks. From there you can just catch a thin sliver of beach before the bluff cuts the view short. A shipping freighter is lazily crawling through the shimmering Californian pollution on it's way the hell out of Sunnydale, and… my god… uhk... soda tastes so strong now that I almost spit it out. The sun is dipping low and I feel my body tingling in the strangest way, coming alive, rising. I try to ignore it and focus on my meal.

"All that change, and seriously? You still eat like a pig."

I startle and look up at the woman leaning against the light pole to my right, her arms folded casually across her chest. She is dressed in a grey silk striped blouse and dark pants with a double buckle, her hair shorter than last I saw her, with thick brown waves that cascade over her lean, angular beautiful face.

"Cordelia?"

"Duh." Cordelia says, and smiles.


	41. The Softer Side of Seers

Chapter 40

The Softer Side of Seers

Cordelia Chase lifts the glass to her lips and takes a tentative sip, and two immaculately groomed eyebrows shoot for the roof.

"Why the surprise?" I say, leaning on the bar.

"Like you have to ask." She says, her eyelashes fluttering shut as she takes a fuller mouthful. A hum emanates as she swallows then a satisfied sigh. "If you are ever in L.A. I know a demon karaoke bar that desperately needs you."

"Demons sing Karaoke?" Sandra says from her perch on the counter beside us.

"Mmm hmm" Cordelia says, biting her olive off the stick. "It's… an experience. Honestly, I don't know what's worse, the ones who want to eat you or the ones who think they have the range for 'I Will Always Love You.' And on that bum note, I have glimpsed hell. Angel sang 'Mandy'."

"Fangy Manilow? Eee gads."

"So demons are real too?" This from Sandy, who offers Cordelia her bag of chips. To my suprise, Cordelia thanks her and takes some.

"Yeah. But, full disclosure... I am part demon."

"That answers so many questions." I say, and she fixes me a withering look.

"It only happened a few months ago, Harris."

"Harris?" Sandy says suspiciously. Her cute little ski ramp nose is readying itself to bury itself firmly in my business.

"Uh, my mother remarried." I fix Cordelia a careful look. "It's back to Hart now. I am Lexi Hart."

"I took on an aspect of a demon when, well…" her face falls. "Look nevermind, suffice to say we are real, not all of us are monsters."

"So is this Angel like…" Sandy says.

"An actual Angel?" Cordelia offers. " Well, that depends on your point of view I suppose. But he is less wings and a halo, more fangs and hair gel."

"Angel is a vampire." I say through tight lips.

"But a good one. Mostly." Cordelia says. "He got cursed with a soul. Which means he is the one and only member of Blood Drinkers Anonymous. You don't want to be around when he falls off that wagon, lemme tell you."

"This is too much to take in." Sandy says, hopping down off the bar. "If you need me I will be in the ladies, sitting in a nice safe stall and trying not to freak out." Cordelia watches her go, and to amazement no sneer of contempt or savage comment follows. As Sandy disappears into the sparse crowd, Cordelia's eyes wander around The Bronze. The crowd all seem happy enough, the pool table is busy and everyone is chatting and laughing. The band is some unknowns from out of town, cutting their teeth on a group of barely interested students.

"Some things never change." She says, then she lets out a small sigh before she turns that attention back my way. I get another appraising look. I shift awkwardly under her scrutiny.

"So this aspect of a demon. Does this mean you can read my thoughts?" I say.

"Nope. Which is a shame, I am curious to know what goes on up there, now that the 24/7 porno channel has been cancelled. The aspect? I am a seer. I get these images from The Powers That Be in full technicolor pain-o-vision. Hence my trip. You got a starring role in my last few magic migraines. Speaking of which, if I have a seizure you know how to roll me into the recovery position, right?"

"That bad?" I say, placing the cocktail down in front of her.

"All the tylenol in the world? Not a scratch. You have no idea."

"I am sorry. That must be terrible." I say. Cordelia pauses, the glass to her lips, and gives me a strange look. She shakes her head and one corner of her mouth curls up into a smile.

"Look at you." She grins.

"Why are you here Cordy? Not that I don't mind the help, god knows I need every bit I can get, but... it's just last we spoke we were not okay. And rightly so. I was the dumb asshole that broke your heart."

She shrugs and fishes something out of her purse. A business card is slid across the counter.

"Angel investigations?" I read aloud. "We help the helpless." Touche.

"Here's what I know. Faith woke up from a coma. Buffy got herself into a coma. You got whammo'ed into a girl, in serious need of a facial and a brow wax, I might add, and poor Oz is somewhere being experimented on by some creepy assed surgeon types, but I haven't figured out where yet."

"And Faith? Any idea where Faith is? Anything at all."

"A long way away from me, hopefully."

"Cordelia, please."

Cordelia draws back, eying me like an open book. I am not entirely convinced she can't read minds.

"Ohhh, seriously? Faith? Dude, what is it with you and Slayers?" She sighs. "Look, I am sorry but I don't know jack about Faith. I am just the messenger. I see what they send. I am like a spiritual fax machine."

"This is so weird. You're a half demon detective, Willow is a werewolf and..."

"Wait, what?" She said, the glass goes down again, hard.

"You didn't oracle of deli up that memo?"

"No. And it's Delphi, dumbass." She says. "So that boyfriend stealing little witch is a werewolf now?"

"Her boyfriend stealing days are over. Remember Anya?"

"Anya Emerson? As in 'careful what you wish for and don't you just hate men'and… oh my god..." She pauses, eyes wide. "Willow's gone lesbo?"

"Cordy. A heads up? Just so you don't park your foot in your mouth? You and Oz are the last of the straight Scoobies. Buffy's girlfriend Tara is a witch. Best tread carefully."

She waves her hand.

"Oh, please. I knew all about Buffy. Her and Faith? You needed a battle axe to cut that sexual tension." She checks her watch "speaking of which..."

Cordelia reaches down to her suitcase and in plain view pulls out a long handled, double bitted axe with exquisite celtic inlay of shimmering silver. She stands, brandishing the weapon.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Hostly, most of the time it feels kinda exactly like that. Catch." The axe is thrown at me, end over end and boom! It rings out as my hand effortlessly plucks it from the air. Cordy scrambles aside just as the double doors erupt to reveal six silhouettes. A scream goes up as one of them drops the bloodied body of the doorman to the ground. A jock steps forward to fight and is immediately cut down with a savage punch to the neck.

I freeze, and for a moment it feels like I am watching it all on a tv set, a thick barrier of glass between me and the carnage. But then a fleeing girl is seized by one of the vampires and her scream shakes me into action. I hop the bar and bury the axe into the nearest vampires skull so deeply their surprised yellow eyes pop backwards into their sockets. Not enough to kill, but enough to down them, and enough to set up the kick that sends the next one flying back into the third.

My axe is wedged too deeply into the hissing skull, so instead I stomp hard on the handle, forcing the blade downwards. The axe slips easily out of the crumbling, shrieking ash.

And oh! Oh! That sound makes my body sing like never before! Deep, resonating pleasure, vibrating through my limbs, pooling heat into my groin. I shudder, and feel the world slide around me, time becoming fluid again, slower, wider. More room to think.

I see the kick the cadre's only female vamp is setting up before she even finishes the spin. She moves with all the smooth confidence of a seasoned martial artists, and, yunno, props, it would have been an elegant attack… if some total bitch hadn't replaced the head it was aimed at with the head of an axe.

The vampire's boot splits in two and her leg shatters and peels back like bamboo, And I feel her cold blood spattering my chest and neck. To my surprise, instead of disgusted, something inside me purrs and somersaults, baying for more.

I want her head. I want it now. I raise my axe high and- a punch like a sledgehammer lands in my ribs, so hard and the air rushes out of my lungs. I slam butt first into the pool table, as students scatter to make way. The vampire is upon me a moment later, all black denim and bad breath. It is a tug of war with the axe handle; I want it to swing, he wants it to crush my throat. And damn it… yep… can't breathe.

His twisted face grins as he presses down, and I feel him part my legs to get even closer, even more leverage.

Think. What would Buffy do?

I wrap my legs around the vamp, and twist, staggering him slightly. Buffy would have made that work. Okay, air seriously becoming an issue.

"I don't care what the boss says, I'm gonna peel your face off and wear it as a trophy."

"Hrrkk, skkrt, mnaf." I manage.

"What you say?" He chuckles. I release the axe handle completely, and agony shoots through me as the wood presses deep into my throat and the taste of blood explodes across my tastebuds.

But now? I have two free hands, which I stretch wide and clap them together over his ears. The vampire recoils, screaming, and I am up onto my feet an instant later.

"I said… oh, never mind." I take his head and the hands clutching it with a long sweep of the axe. They are dust before they hit the ground.

The four remaining vampires have circled around me, grinning fangs and wicked yellow eyes flash in the rocking pool table lamp. I swallow back the blood and try not to show how much it god damn hurts. Because it god damn hurts a lot.

My heart is thumping at my ribs at an alarming rate and I feel if I don't move my muscles will rip their way out of my skin. It's coming harder and louder than before, that sensation, that pure, carnal rage within me. I feel my lips peel back into a snarl, and for a moment there is no pain, there is just the need.

I growl and launch myself into the remaining vampires. Time hammers along like my blows, a blur of silver and fury, of ash and agony, of blood rage.

And I get the head. I get them all.

I let fly a victorious roar as I sink the axe into the final vampires gut. He falls forward, and from down on one knee he blinks up at me in disbelief. He watches his own execution. And there I am, standing amid the blood and ash of my enemies.

_More_. That thing inside me calls. _More_.

And to my horror, it gets its wish. All about me, I see them, weaving behind the terrified onlookers, in the dark corners of the room, hovering outside the door. God there must be eight more at least.

"Not a Slayer." Comes a voice from the gantry, mocking my own. My blood freezes at the English accent. "I knew it was a load of bollocks."

I turn and look up. Spike leans casually over the railing, his handsome, chiselled face illuminated in the sickly blue light.

"Well, Lexi Hart, How did you like my warm up act?"

"Meh. Ran a little long. I had to make some cuts." I say, my voice hoarse, I can feel a painful wet click of my trachea as I talk.

"Well then, let's not keep the audience waiting and skip to the main act?"

With a billow of his duster, he drops down and lands before me. He glares at me with sparkling yellow eyes, head lowered and I watch in horror as his cocky little grin peels back into a row of razor fangs.


	42. Murder On The Dancefloor

Chapter 41

Murder On The Dancefloor

He was dead. He was dust. I had been certain of it… I had convinced myself that Faith had slain him when she came for me, when she tore me from the literal jaws of death.

Unlike any other threat I had faced as a Scooby, it was Spike, and Spike alone that penetrated deep into my subconscious. It was his face that haunted my dreams, that finally drove me to learn to fight, to protect myself. And yes, it wasn't just fear of him killing me, it was the fear of how he made me feel, it was what he made me want. And I had stuffed all that baggage deep into the daydream basket only because I knew Faith had ended him.

But here he was, in sharp focus, even more terribly real with my inconceivably heightened senses.

Spike's cocky grin stabbed into me, opening up the wound once more. Oh god… oh god, it is all coming back… the vicious wires on my wrists, the tightness of breath as my panic rose, the scream coming from me, rising and rising as his wicked fangs tore into my flesh. And more, and darker things yet. The sensations began to bleed out of the darkness, razors dragging along my nerves. He grins at me like he knows. Those wicked yellow eyes piercing directly into the well of weakness within me.

"What? No wise cracks?" Spike tuts and wags a black painted claw at me. "Now your predecessor would have been firing them off at this stage. As much as a pain my arse that bitch was, she never disappointed with a pun. You know, I really had my heart set on killing Buffy myself. We had some good times, we did, me 'n 'er. All this too and fro felt, well, like foreplay. Building up to the big showdown."

I want to say something cutting but my throat is feeling hot and throbbing, swelling, blood and phlegm- sticky and sharp. I taste my own blood, as if it was once again his mouth that brought it forth.

"It really got my appetite going, it did. I have a taste for it, Slayers blood." He talks loud, playing to the gallery of vamps. "Drained my first Slayer way back in The Qing dynasty... The Boxer rebellion. My second in New York, in the seventies. Got this duster from her as a trophy. Buffy was supposed to be my third. My hat trick. Can you imagine how ticked off I was when I found out someone else bagged the slayer?" He shakes his pale head "fate can be so cruel. And with a gun? How pathetic. No honour or glory in that kill. Still, one slayer dies, another takes her place. So lucky number three. I am sure you won't disappoint, luv. After all, we both know I have already tasted you."

What would Buffy do? What would Buffy do when faced by the thing that hunted her, haunted her nightmares, what would she do when the odds are so stacked against her?

I knew Buffy. I knew her in detail, this shouldn't be so hard to summon her. After all, Buffy Summers had shattered my world the moment I laid eyes on her. Now, you're thinking that may sound dramatic, but you have to understand that my world consisted of a safe bubble of denial and humor, constantly and lovingly reinforced by my friends and enemies. Willow and Jesse on one hand- Cordelia and my father on the other. I was trapped inside that bubble, drowning, going round and round like the washing in my basement. But Buffy? She was new, so was clean of Cordelia's spite. A beautiful, welcoming smile, an awkwardness that felt, I confess, exploitable. Looking back, I am glad of her rejection, for I wasn't ready to love. I would have been horrible for the both of us.

But then, the real shattering happened, as I followed her out of my bubble, out into the terrors of the night. And with that, Jesse became a monster, and then dust at my hands, not ten feet from where I stand. Willow started on her path as a witch and I? I began to fight for my life, my ego, my sanity and my masculinity.

Had I been Lexi underneath that all? That scared, wisecracking, fragile, boy? Or had she come to be when Willow's spell "made me a girl"? Had my mind been changed along with my body? The brain is the body? Or was I always, in a way, Lexi, waiting for the spell to make me one of the girls? To free me from Xander's bubble?

Maybe the reason I was drawn to Buffy is she shattered my preconceptions of masculinity and femininity? She was strong, brave, oft times responsible, the warrior, the rescuer… things I had been told were male traits, and constantly reminded by cruel lips and fists that I was found lacking.

So to say Buffy shattered my world, is no understatement.

And now, in this body, the body of a Slayer clutching this axe, my blood on my split lips and the air thick with ashes, I know what I am. I can be strong, I can be brave, and yes, oft times responsible. And right now Faith and Oz, and the people in this bar need me to be the rescuer.

What would Buffy do? She would kick Spike' ass. That's what she would do.

I lunge, and despite my waning strength, the axe arcs down fast and true. Spike is ready, side stepping as I had hoped, placing him into the path of my kick. He accepts the blow to the chest easily and staggers back only two paces. He smiles and licks his lips. I spin, trying to get as much momentum with the axe as possible and sweeping in a wide arc he can't possibly outstep. And he doesn't, instead he closes the distance, checking my hands with his shoulder, causing me to all but lose grip on the handle. I am off balance as he spins, and his hand comes over, easily prying loose my weapon. I roll away and come to my feet (ouch) facing him again.

Spike spins the axe dramatically, then lets it slip down his grip so he can examine the small double bitted head.

"Nice craftsmanship. And oh… what is this? Silver coated, well, you little minx." He says. "Not very nice, bringing an blessed axe to a fist fight. Going to have to teach you some manners, little Miss Hart."

I need to close the distance, to get the weapon back. But he is fast, and right now I am hurting real bad, my eyes watering, my mouth filling with blood. I glance around at all the terrified faces, and the many yellow eyes leering from the darkness. How can I be The Chosen? Was this all some sick ironic joke at the end of my life?

Spike advances now, looming over me, his black duster spreading out, revealing a red t-shirt over taut muscles. He spins the axe with ease, confidence pouring from him.

Who am I kidding? I don't have what Buffy had. What Faith had. I can't be this. I cannot beat him. He is my inevitable end all along.

I know now that Spike is going to kill me.

* * *

It felt like I had been limping along the dark desert highway forever. The grave of my motorbike was at least four to five hours behind me, but it was impossible to tell, the cheap plastic of my watch had been ground down to a foul smelling black pulp on the tarmac when I crashed.

By now I was more bone weary than I had ever felt before, and the only things keeping me from falling asleep where I stood was the sharp stings of my raw flesh against my clothing, and the certain knowledge that I would die from hypothermia if I did. Moving hurt, but it generated heat, and each painful step brought me closer to safety.

So you can imagine my elation when I reached the crest of a hill and saw the thin sliver of pink neon over the next ridge. Neon meant civilization. Neon meant safe.

The sign belonged to a roadhouse, which I instantly recognised from earlier. I cursed my luck, realising I had come the wrong way. The row of impressive hog motorbikes parked out front had instantly intimidated me, and as much as I had dreamed of the lone biker image, the tough guy drifter, the idea of meeting real bikers was plain terrifying, so I had done the manly thing and driven past. It was a low, dark wooden building, perched on the lip of a shallow canyon that I remembered stretched on for many a mile. I cursed again, this was my only option.

You know those cowboy movies when the hero enters and suddenly the whole bar stops to look, the piano player too? Well, it wasn't exactly like. For starters the piano player was a jukebox roaring out some early AC/DC, but enough of the big, scary heads turned to look at me to give the effect. And that effect was all the air crushed out of my lungs by aching ribs.

Still, with no other choice I straightened my back and tried not to limp as I made my way up to the L shaped bar on the far right. I cannot imagine what I looked like to them.

The girl behind the bar reminded me of Faith Lehane. Leather pants and a tight tank, oozing confidence and sex. But as beautiful as she was, she didn't hold a candle to Faith. I mean, who could? She was flirting with some huge biker guy who looked like a young viking. Her face fell as she noticed me, and her eyes drifted down and up.

"Shit dude, who did you piss off?" She said, causing the men at the bar to turn and look at me. I felt nauseous from fear, but tried to hide it.

"My bike. It was a fair fight though, up until she hit me with a road."

"Jesus." Said the Viking. "Sadie, get the first aid box out and get this man a shot."

"Tetanus?" I said, confused.

"Bourbon." He said. A wave of his hand and I found myself sat on a chair with a flurry of activity around me. A blur of big burly bodies, tattoos and ripped denim. A glass was placed to my lips and as much as it stung them, the follow burn of the fluid chased away the chill. I felt the firm, confident press of hands along my limbs.

"Tell me if it hurts." A deep voice came, and to my surprise, Australian, I think.

"I can handle it." I protested, my pride aching worse than my body.

"Sure you can tough guy, sure you can, but I am a doctor, and right now I am testing for fractures so you shout out anyway." Came the voice. I tried to focus, to stay awake, but something was claiming me. "Nah, yeah, nah, no fractures. Spine is fine. But you're burning up, big guy so..."

I don't remember the rest, only that when I came too I was in a motel ten miles away, with my room paid for three nights and a prescription written out waiting for me on the dresser.

If I learned anything from that night, it is sometimes help comes from the least expected places.

* * *

The axe impacts the pillar with such force the sparks skip off my cheek. The plaster falls away from the brick, swinging out on a flap of thickly pasted posters that I duck under.

Spike swings the axe lazily, playfully, aiming to tire me, or perhaps wound me. He wants my blood, not to spill it. Still, with each… _uhhh_… duck… _ahhhh_… I feel… _shiiiit_…. weaker.

The swing is chest height, scything through air with more force, and I fold backwards to avoid it, losing my balance, crashing back onto a table. A highball glass jams into my back and cracks under my body weight. I feel the sting of air on an open wound as I roll away.

A boot lands on my ankle and my momentum wrenches at my knee. With a hiss I come to a halt, facing upwards, seeing his grin as the axe comes crashing down at my face and…

**_Thunk!_**

It buries itself beside my ear, trapping my hair against the wood. I flail to grab the axe, but a kick lands on my knuckles, and agony shoots from my ankle as he brings his full bodyweight grinding down onto the tender bones. A scream slips from my lips, and with it seems to go all my strength. I know it is over.

But no final blow comes.

I peek through one eye, and am confused by what I see.

Spike is hunched over, his back to me, hands clasped to either side of his skull. He shakes his head, skin flushed, tendons straining in his neck.

"Boss?" Comes the fang muffled voice. "You alright?"

"I'm fine!" Spike yells, clearly not.

"Blondie bear?" Comes another voice, and it may be the concussion but I swear it was Harmony.

"Not now Harm." Spike hisses. He turns back to me, his face human, all the cockiness gone. "I am working."

His boot streaks out to hit my jaw, and I am slammed back into the wood. But this time the scream isn't mine, it comes from Spike. Once again, he is doubled over, clutching at his head.

A girl appears, hovering near him. Her face pale and twisted, her clothes darker, her hair braided tightly to her skull. My god, Buffy was right. Harmony Kendall is a vampire? I feel my lip split open as I smirk.

I stand, my ankle protesting enough that I have to use the ruined table for support. It also giveth gifts, for the axe is mine once more.

Suddenly there are screams and the crowd surges, I look to see the vampire guarding by the door screaming and hissing. Cordelia throws a vial of holy water at an incoming vampire and then throws the door wide. The gathered crowd pauses.

"Hello? This is the part where you run for your lives. Duh!" She says. As the crowd take the hint, the room erupts into chaos.

But Harmony has stepped into the path of the door, the other vamps are descending on the trapped, I see one girl bitten. I glance back at Spike and Harmony, then back to the crowd. What would Buffy do?

My throw is imperfect, but effective. The axe buries itself in Harmony's skull. Not enough to kill, but she goes down hard, and the crowd surge over her. I drop to my knee, satisfied by my last action.

I always hated Harmony.

Spike catches me before I fall down, seizing me hard by my hair and snarling. He notices smile on my lips, and it drives him all the more insane with rage. And with that, he bites down on my throat.


	43. A Stitch In Time

Chapter 42

A Stitch In Time

Conan The Barbarian was once asked "what is best in life?" As cool as his answer was, I have to make a few modifications of my own. What is, infact, best in life is punching Spike out cold in one hit, dumping him in Gile's car boot and seeing his limp body chained up in Gile's bathtub. No lamentations of women required. Which is fortunate because somehow in the chaos Harmony vanished, axe and all.

Cordelia sits at the kitchen table nursing a mug of coffee, watching sympathetically as I get my wounds tended by Giles. And to be honest, this whole sea change in her personality, it is wigging me out, I don't think I have ever seen her think twice about anyone but herself. No, that's unfair. I don't think I have seen her act like she is only thinking about herself. She has layers, it turns out, and as much false front as Faith. Under all that venom, Cordelia actually cared.

Giles hands me a glass of water and a pair of familiar pills. I gaze at them, hesitantly as he watches with concern etched on his face

"This is weird." I say. And he nods, reassuringly. "I still remember vividly you sitting us down, Willow and I, and warning us over and over that these things would probably kill us if we tried one. You paced. The emphasis was very emphatic."

"Yes, well, those rules no longer apply to you." Giles says softly. "But I understand it must be jarring. You have been through so much change in so little time, Lexi, it astounds me how you manage it at all. Take them, they will help."

I gaze down at the pills in my palm, still uncertain, but we both know that layer of fear runs deeper than a stiff warning. My warnings walked, and talked and argued and fought right above my head. But the pain was unrelenting, my ribs, throat, knees, ankles, elbows, knuckles, back, each pain throbbing at a different tempo, blurring into a cacophony of ouch. I toyed with the pills and let my hand fall loose at my side. I glance around Gile's harshly lit kitchen, remembering all the times I watched as Buffy sat here, undergoing the same treatment. I felt helpless then, so sorry for her suffering, and I wished I could take all her pain away. I guess I got my wish.

"This is the part where the needle comes out, isn't it?" I say, wincing as Giles presses the pad of foul smelling cotton to my lip. It burns, but in a strangely comforting way. "I stitched up Buffy enough times to know."

"I am sorry, Lexi. You will need stitches, yes. We can go to the hospital if you prefer.

"No." I sigh. "Guess I best get used to it. I mean, this is how it is going to be for me from now on in."

"With training, less so." He says, a flicker of dark humor on his features "one would be astounded at the effect dodging can have on the number required stitches". I give him a 'hardy har' grin back. Cordelia smirks but has the decency to hide it behind the rim of her mug.

"This sucks."

"Yes." He says. "Yes, it does."

"And I suck worse. Giles, I got my ass handed to me. I am just not cut out to be a Slayer."

"I would strongly disagree with that appraisal, Lexi. You saved dozens of people from what otherwise would have been a bloodbath. Your first real challenge as The Slayer and you slew upwards of six vampires and captured one of the most dangerous, most notorious vampires in history."

"He had me Giles. Dead to rights. If whatever stopped him hadn't…" I hiss as Giles cruelly tampers with the wound on my lip. "Hhhhhaaaaa…. Ow."

"And when Buffy was defeated by The Master, remember what saved her then?"

Me. Her friends. Having friends saved her. I look over to Cordelia and can't help but smile.

"Thanks Cordy."

"We help the helpless." She smiles back.

"Well, that was a bust." Tara enters, dumping down a bag of mystical herbage and a crystal onto the kitchen counter, before hoisting herself up onto it. She looks exhausted. "I couldn't detect any charms, enchantments… anything."

"So can I dust him now?" I growl.

"Whatever it was that caused Spike agony when he harmed you could be a vital weapon in our fight."

"You tested Spike, but what about him?" Cordy points to me.

"Her." Tara corrects. "Lexi uses female pronouns. But, good point." Cordelia looks at me for a moment before shrugging one shoulder.

"But the vampires could hurt me. Only Spike couldn't." I say, still feeling a little sparkle of happiness from Tara's correction.

"What if it isn't magic at all?" Tara says "what if it's something else?"

"We will have to interrogate him." Giles says. "So perhaps, hold off on the Slaying for now."

I grumble, then wince at the sight of the thin, hooked needle.

"This sucks." I reiterate.

* * *

I have never seen a vampire sleeping. And Spike seems so very human when he does so. The carved marble features softened, the lines of rage or mockery vanished, the pallid lips slack, soft quite kissab… okay, all aboard, express train to wigsome valley leaving now.

I shake my head in lieu of brain bleach and fold my arms across my chest. I swear, it is the residual effects of slaying. I spent the ride home squirming in the seat, uncomfortably wet. Faith was right about the hungry and horny thing.

I let my mind settle into a comfortable fantasy about Faith, of furious, passionate kisses against a tomb wall, the ashes of vampires still in the air around us. I feel a stirring in my chest that heats the horniness to boiling point, and a gasp leaves my lips. But the reality soaks back in like cold water along my spine. She could be anywhere now, if the council have found her. What the hell would they be doing to her. The boiling stays, but shifts into anger.

"Anyone tell you it's rude to stare." Spike says, his eyes still shut.

"Anyone tell you it's rude to stalk and murder women?"

"I murder men too. I am an equal opportunity demon, me." He says, and stretches as best his chains allow. Crystal blue eyes open, and settle on me.

"Comfortable?"

"No."

"Good."

"Hungry." He smiles, his eyes falling on my neck. I shift and fold my arms again, you know, the other way. Okay, I clasp my thighs together a bit too, but shush now, we aren't talking about that.

"Good." I say. He smiles slowly.

"I can smell you." He says. "I know how you taste."

"You are not helping your situation, Spike."

"And what situation is that, love? Humiliation before you stake me? Or, is it to be torture, before you peg me out for the sun? We both know that's more your style. You have it in you, that dark streak, I can see it, plain as day. Not like the golden girl. Yours is inviting."

"Can it, Blondie Bear." I smirk at his sneer. "You tell us what we need to know and you get blood. Otherwise… actually I am not sure, what exactly happens when a vampire starves?"

"It's not a pretty picture, pet. Looks horrible." He grins. "And you like looking at me, don't you?"

"I confess I do like you better beaten and chained up in a bathtub. It's probably a kink of mine, who knows? Still, we got a whole mess of blood bags downstairs in the mini fridge for your consideration."

"Bitch."

"Thank-you." I grin and turn to leave.

"Offer still stands, Lexi Hart." He says in that voice like a deep purr. "Immortality. Freedom. A Queendom. Imagine the power of a slayer combined with the power of a vampire. You would be glorious. A deadly beauty, a true…"

Without turning I kick the bathroom door shut with my heel. Seriously, I need to do something about my post slay hormones, this is not healthy for me.

"Wow, you look all purple-y. Does it hurt?" Willow says as I come down the stairs.

"Only when I exist." I smile, and ease myself carefully down on the chair opposite her. "Tip? Don't become a Slayer. Sure, the brochure looks cool, and the free steak knives are great, but the fine print is a killer. How have you been?"

"Less bruised. Well, physically. Emotionally? Still smarting."

"Anya tell you how she felt?"

"Yes. But, I don't know why Xander, it felt so… I don't know. Broken. It broke us."

"So where are you two at?"

"I-I called it off." Willow sighs, a forced little smile to hide the hurt- a habit of hers. "It was for the best. I-I think. Maybe it will heal in time but, I feel so different now, you know?"

"Strangely, I do."

"And that's my fault too. You wouldn't be a Slayer if I hadn't done my spell! Maybe if I break the spell someone else would be called."

"We don't know that." I say.

"We can try. I mean, I just have to..."

"Then some other girl would have to go through this, Willow. As much as I don't want to be a Slayer, someone has to. That's not right. I don't want that."

"Xander please, let me…"

"Oz needs us. And Buffy. And, regardless of your feelings, Faith needs us too. If I am not The Slayer, who knows where this power will go."

Willow nods, her lips tight and trembling.

"Xander I am so, so sorry I did this to you."

"I know. And that is enough." I groan as I stand. "And I know this hard for you too, but Xander is gone. I am Lexi now. And as much as it hurts like a bitch to be me right now, I like me. As I am."

"I like you too." Willow says, a single tear falls from her eye as she smiles. "It's still you, right?"

I nod, not entirely sure of the answer myself. But nodding feels right. I touch my friend on her cheek and wipe the tear away.

"Get a room" Cordelia says from the doorway.

* * *

It is only when I get home that I remember the place has been trashed. And that is the last blow that breaks the dam, I start to sob uncontrollably as I step across the threshold. And me knees go weak and I drop down into a blubbering mess, safe in the knowledge nobody can see me fall apart.

And that is when I notice that I am not alone.


	44. Switching

Chapter 43

Switching

Faith stands by the broken kitchen window, her damp matted hair flicking around in the night breeze. Her face is in shadow, but I can see it clearly. Her eye is bruised and a gash on her cheek is in the last stages of healing shut, dried blood gathered on the right side of her lips. Her skin pale and clammy.

I push myself up from the ground, hissing in pain, and stand facing her.

"What happened?" I say.

"Don't play me." She growls. "You set me up. You lied to me. You used me."

"You don't believe that." I say.

"Try me." Faith says. "Xander."

I shake my weary, aching head and clutch at my ribs. I stagger over to what's left of my refrigerator and pull out a juice carton. Dark eyes follow me. I drink the warm juice down in one long draft and let the carton drop to the ground.

"I never lied to you. We had a deal. I kept it."

"Bullshit. Every moment we spent together was a lie." Faith said.

"Not how I see it. How did you find out?"

"I wanted answers. Went through your shit." She says. "I ain't completely stupid."

"What happened? Who attacked you?"

"Stop!" Faith says, her fist smashing down on the counter. "Stop! You know who!"

"I don't! I don't!" I rake my bandaged hands through my hair and let out a huff. "Faith, I have done nothing but help you. Not a damn thing to hurt you!"

"I trusted you. A fucking trusted you… I… you… and you are fucking Xander fucking Harris all along?"

"I am not! I am not Xander!"

"You just said…"

"I was. Okay? I was Xander. And I hated every god damned awful minute of it. You of all people should understand, Abigail!"

Faith's advance halts hard, like she struck a wall. Her eyes flick down to the floor and she sucks in a ragged breath, hands to her belly. She turns away from me, and rests her hands on the bench. The metallic clack draws my attention to her hand. A silver device is in her palm, three loops wrapped around her fingers. Her fingers claw at the counter, pink and trembling.

"Before you woke up Willow accidentally turned me into a girl, though we didn't figure that out for months. And, it was weird at first, but it fits. It fits me better. I had to start over. Build a new me. Figure out who I was. And in all that confusion, you showed up."

"Body issues." Faith mutters.

"You saved me Faith. And I vowed to return that favor. No lies, but secrets are okay."

"We were wrong." Faith says, turning back to look at me with those big doe eyes filled with contempt. "Secrets are not okay."

"Well, I am all out of secrets. You?"

Faith says looking down at the metal jewelry thing in her hand, she turns it over with a dull clack. It's beautiful, ornate, and feels… well, there is something strange in the air around it. "Did they know?"

"No." I said, resting my weight against the refrigerator. "Buffy, Willow and I all fell out while you were out of action. I kept you secret."

"Why? After what I did to you. To you all. Why?"

"Because you needed me."

"You're pathetic." She says, turning to face me. A tear is mingling with the blood on the side of her mouth.

"I am. But I don't regret my decision. Or what happened between us." Faith goes to say something, but bites it back. "Faith, who attacked you? Was it these soldier guys in black?"

"Yeah." Faith says. "Watcher's Council, right?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. They captured Oz, and are experimenting on him. They shot Buffy."

"Sounds like The Council." Faith says.

"Yeah, guess it does." I sigh. "Look, I just got pounded into a pulp by a metric shit tonne of vampires, and I really need to sleep. Buffy can't chase you now, if you need to take your stuff and leave, I understand. I wish it worked out any other way, but I understand."

"You want me gone." toying with the jewellery thing.

"What I want? I want to save everyone. Buffy. Oz. You. And I want us to be together. You and me. I want you to let Giles lift the curse on you and you to be The Slayer again. Fix your mistakes. And a puppy. And a burger. Two burgers. And more than anything right now I just want to sleep."

"Sounds like a nice dream."

"It does. But we both know life likes to kick us when we dream So... "

Silence falls between us. Faith wipes at her face with the back of a bruised hand, and sniffs.

"Wanna shower?" I say.

"Yeah." She sighs, slipping the metal thing off her hand and into her pocket. "Yeah, I do."

There is nothing sexual in my offer, and I guess she senses that, perhaps that is why she accepts. God knows I am in too much pain right now, and any of the hornies left hours ago. I pad into the bathroom and flip on the faucets with no aim other than the application of hot water to my bruised and bleeding bodies. Which, obviously, is why I struggled to peel off my jacket. But Faith is beside me, and deftly tugs it free, tossing it down on top of her own. She turns me to face her, fingers at the collar of my button down.

Something dark passes behind her eyes, and perhaps I recognise it, because it lurks within me too. The killing urge. The urge to take me by the throat and crush the pain inside away. I gaze into that darkness and she gazes back and perhaps it is like a mirror to her as well, as it stirs her, drawing her focus onto me. Or perhaps it is a memory of that day I came to connect with her, after she accidentally killed Alan Finch, and she poured all her rage into me, strangling me. Until Angel showed up.

I watch those same strong fingers pop the button of my blouse, and she continues down and down, until with a painful shrug I drop the garment to the floor. She turns me, undoing my bra strap. I feel her hands ghost over my back, settling on my right shoulder.

"This mole here." She whispers. "I thought it funny you had one like him. Like, three together here."

"You remembered that night?"

"Yeah." She says. "Wasn't that long ago for me." I feel her hands slide over my shoulders, squeezing, massaging. I moan and my eyes flutter shut. And then I notice it, beyond the pleasure her hands are giving me, and the pain of my body, a sensation.

"Is that you? I can feel you." I say. "Like, this sort of warm buzzing, bubbling, in the middle of my spine."

"Yeah. Buffy and I had that too. Guess it is a Slayer thing." She says. "I felt you at the hospital. It's how I knew."

She steps back, and I can't help but turn my head over my shoulder and watch as she peels away her clothing. She doesn't tease, doesn't play, she just slips free of her dark skins. She stands, pale and vulnerable in the dim, flickering light.

I draw down my jeans, letting the remaining clothes drop away. I reach forward and take her hand, and lead us both under the hot stream of water.

We wash each other, slowly and carefully, avoiding the wounds. Faith lowers her forehead to meet mine, and we just stand there for the longest time, eyes closed, letting the water work its magic. It is her that pulls my chin up so we can kiss. A chaste reconnection. Nothing more. And I let her draw me into her weary embrace.

Together we watch the blood and grime circle down the drain beneath our feet.


	45. The Pit

Chapter 44

The Pit

The house creaks and cracks like bones under tension. I watch as the corridor around me stretches and warps, groaning as it is pulled out of its slumber.

Suddenly, the floor shifts downwards, and the passageway swiftly becomes a pit. I stumble on the brink, but Faith catches my hand and draws me back.

"Where are we?" She says with pink lips marred by black stitches, her face is pale and her hair chopped real short, and she seems so much younger than I have ever known her, perhaps twelve or thirteen.

"They burned this place down." I say. "It's where they shot Buffy and captured Oz."

"She is here. Can't you tell?" The young teenager says. She swallows and releases my hand. "I can feel her."

"Part of her maybe. But this place is gone and everything becomes ash one day."

"This way." The young girl says. I watch as she slips her hand into her pocket and produce a slim black handle. A switch blade snaps out. "What?"

"This is a slayer dream?" I say.

"Guess so." The young girl says. "You're talking weird shit, like Buffy does, so yeah. Probably. This is gonna bite. I hate fallin' dreams."

"But this place is gone. It doesn't make sense." I say, as Faith pushes a door open cautiously. The floor inside is melting downwards as the walls slide upwards. I watch the paper patterns and posters rolling on a loop. A jack o lantern's smile stretches as it oozes down into the pit. "Aren't these supposed to be prophetic?"

"You don't feel her?" Faith says, her hand shooting out to grip my arm. "Down there. Deep down there."

I hear her sobbing then. The wretched cries that drew us through the real halls. Buffy's sobbing. Faith glares down the hole, and swallows.

"We need to find Buffy. If this is a Slayer Dream, she will be here."

Faith steps back from the pit, shaking her head. "Hell no. I am not going in there again. Not again."

"Someone has to." I say, gazing into the darkness. I feel Spike's smile against my neck, just a ghost of a feeling. A goading, mocking feeling. I turn to Faith. "Give me the knife. I will go."

Faith's brow scrunches as she looks at the switch blade in her hand. Now it is long, wickedly barbed, a double bladed dagger, black with blood. Emotion takes her, and she lets out a strained sob. She pulls back just as the floor drops away beneath me, and I am fall, down and down, blue lights streaking past me. I feel the crush of inertia in my gut, and sense the floor coming up fast below me.

I land heavily, and tuck into a roll, tumbling over and over on the cold metal grating, the lights circling over and over my head like a bike crash.

And with a painful "oof" I come to rest in a dimly lit corridor. Both of the walls are smooth concrete, which seem new, clean, reinforced with yellow painted steel supports every ten yards or so. A red line is painted on the wall with the number 6 stencilled not far from where I sit.

Below me, the metal grill reveals a glass porthole, and what appears to be a small dimly lit cell. I cannot make out what is there, but gazing down fills me with a sense of discomfort. I stand, wanting to distance myself from the round glass as much as I can. But then as I tread warily down the corridor, I find another below me, and another. Row after row of cells.

The corridor opens out to a large room, with silver foil lined walls and no ceiling, well, I can make out a ceiling far, far above, but the room itself is more like a pit within a larger room. I feel exposed and naked standing in the dark, wide open space, and my spidey sense is quivering through my nerves.

I hear Buffy' sobbing, but there is no source. It is in this room, this pit, floating on the air, among the eye watering sharp stench of disinfectant and blood.

I remember then it is a dream. That it is a message. And I try to focus, to take note of my surroundings. There has to be a clues to where this is.

The room is strung through with wires and pipes, leading to all manner of machines. And many of them sit in familiar cases. Standard issue military supply boxes line one wall. There are no names, no labels. Nothing I can hold onto.

And then, my heart stops as a screaming face appears before me. And I stagger away from the image. It is Cordelia, dressed in a black slip, clutching her skull. She blinks at me through red tearful eyes and says something I cannot make out, looking behind me before she vanishes.

I know these dreams. Never turn around. Never look behind you. And yes, I can feel it now. I can sense it. The smell of raw meat and freshly ground metal. A Wet, rapid, clicking sound like something lodged in the throat. The sound builds, shifting from a clicking to tortured, metallic groans.

I have to turn. And what I see sends terror pooling through me.

A quivering, twisted mass of glossy raw flesh, fur and spindly, spiderly limbs lined with metal claws, pitted through with metal staples. And in what I can only guess is or was a face, five human looking eyes lock onto me. Eyes burning with agony.

* * *

Faith and I startle awake at the same moment, both drawing ourselves up to sitting position, fists raised. She blinks and shakes her head. The room is filled with cruelly bright white. Morning has come with a vengeance.

"Jesus. What was that thing?" She says.

"Same well." I mutter, "that was a Slayer Dream, right? Those things are real." I jump out of bed and have my Sunnydale Razorbacks shirt pulled over my head before I realise that nothing hurts. My joints are stiff and there is a dull ache, sure, but I felt like I had been in a car crash last night. Right now, I feel like I could run a marathon. I gaze back at Faith, who is stretching out her neck like nothing just happened.

"You were there right? You saw it?" I say. She looks at me from her stretch and gives me a look.

"Creepy house? Frankenstein fucked a giant spider?" She shrugs. "Yeah. Guess so."

"Why are you not freaked? I mean, I am freaked for the both of us, but, feel free to join in."

"Who says I ain't?" Faith says, and stands, wincing. My cuts are little more than red marks now, but her cheek seems little much better than it was last night. Oh right. Curse.

"We have to warn the others." I say, trying to slip on some jeans, which are fighting back.

"The others being…" Faith says, head hung low, she seems fascinated by her fingers all of a sudden. She looks at me nervously, then sighs. "Stupid question."

"Hey. I promise, things are different. You are different."

"Ya reckon?"

"Yeah. Big time. I mean, you want a measure of how much things have changed…" I gesture to myself. One leg in a jean. Jeans? Is it a pair of jeans? As in two jeans or…?

Faith shrugs, still nervous.

"Giles is not with the council any more. Willow is a werewolf. And gay. A big gay werwolf. And Cordelia? She is half demon and is actually nice. Ish."

"Fuck off."

"I am not even kidding." I grin. "So much has changed Faith. One of the new Scoobies, Anya, she was a vengeance demon for like a thousand years. Got up to all manner of terrible things. Believe me, you walk back in there and… and…"

I am coming up with nothing, so I settle with an emphatic shrug. Faith's smile is cute and natural, she chuckles.

"Aight. So I go eat crow. "sorry I stabbed you all in the back, yadda yadda" Do the whole good Slayer thing. We fight, whatever the hell those things are, find Oz or what's left of him and then we all live happily ever after and, play house and shit?"

"Basically." I shrug. "Don't piss on this Faith, I happen to think it's an excellent plan."

"Well, best laid plans and all that."

"I need you."

"Yeah, you do." She says, and stands. Then she chuckles. "A 'Big gay werewolf?' Seriously?"

"Well, big compared to me. Now."

"Okay, shorty. I will play nice. But you're buying me coffee. Because fuck facing my demons down without a bastard huge cup of joe."

"I could not agree more."


	46. Out Of The Bag

Chapter 45

Out of The Bag

As we wait at the Espresso Pump for our coffee order, I realise this is the first time in our… whatever this has been… that I have seen Faith outside in daylight. No, not in an "ugly lights" kinda way, because, and forgive the cheesy squeezy here but, to me Faith is literally the single most gorgeous human being I have ever laid eyes on, and I do mean that literally, uh… shit, where was I? Oh yeah, I mean, we had been lost in a secret, hidden together in a semi darkness, a trapped space. So looking at her in the open daylight, felt like the roof being torn off. Like there was a future possible for us.

She is looking around in that way she does, constantly moving even at rest, all nervous energy and fire. But yeah, she notices me looking. A perfect little brow peaks in amusement.

"Shut up." I say, "You know I am into you." Her lip peels back in a smile, and that adorable dimple appears that instantly makes me want to kiss her. And it is my turn to look away, feeling my cheeks coloring. Faith collects the order and hands me a mercifully huge coffee, and we make our way back out onto the street. I gesture to the bent up table that has been taped off as we pass.

"S' where I got called." I say. She smirks and sips her drink. I expect her to reply with her own story, but she just remains silent. I thought secrets between us were bad now. I guess some habits die hard, they need work.

"So where we headin'? The library?"

"Ah that's a big no. That blew up to a bajillion little pieces along with…." I stop and clear my throat. "The school. We're heading for Giles place." Yeah. We both need to work on it. Still, I feel Faith's hand slide into mine and give it a firm, nervous little squeeze. She has a sad little smile.

"Actually Faith, there is something you should know. You said… you told me that you fell in love with a straight girl. And I take it that was Buffy, right?" I receive something between a nod and a shrug by way of reply.

"Well, truth is she was just deep in denial about her sexuality. And, I guess it is an understatement that she didn't handle it well."

"You knew about us? She told you?"

"Actually, no. It was kinda pivotal to the scoobies all expl… all falling out. The secrets. She was dating this girl and keeping it secret."

"That would be me."

"Actually, that would be Tara. Tara, being the secret girlfriend who came after you. Tara, who you are probably about to meet in a few minutes."

"Aight. Thanks for the heads up." Faith says, her face emotionless. Which I now read as hurting. I squeeze her hand and feel hers tighten around mine. I watch her scrunch her brow in thought.

"They know about us?" She says after a few yards of silence.

"Yes. I mean, I told them we kinda got involved during our time together. Though, I don't know to what extent we are an 'us'. Are we an 'us'?"

"Dunno. Where you at on that?"

"Thought I have been pretty clear on what I want." I sigh. "You're the wildcard in this equation. Miss 'get some, get gone.'"

Faith smiles and then says "You know I am full of shit, right?"

"Okay. Not an answer."

"Well, what do you think? I told you that rule was with guys." I stop, and Faith does to, turning to me, hand still clasped in mine.

"That also kind of… you know… it's not an answer, I guess. Considering, what I am. Or was. Or… uh..." I huff the hair from my face and squint back the girl standing in the sunlight.

"I left Abigail back in Boston. You left Xander?"

"Back in loserdom. A thousand miles, thattaway" I gesture behind me as best as I can with the coffee cup. "Never going back." And that was true. Sure, being Lexi also meant being a Slayer, it meant pain and fighting, and a shorter life. But it also meant feeling more alive and easy in my own skin than ever before. And yeah, Xander was behind me. He was my past self, and regardless of gender, I have grown far from who I was.

"Well then. You have your answer, girlfriend." She grins, and leans in to give me a coffee flavored kiss.

The Cordelia that opens the door to Gile's apartment isn't a version of Cordelia I have ever seen before. She wears no makeup, her bobbed curly hair is mussed, her face wearing all the hallmarks of insomnia.

"You saw it too?" She says, her voice fragile and crackly.

"Oh yeah." I say. Her eyes dart over my shoulder to where Faith is hanging back. Cordelia gives an awkward little smile and nods.

"Hey Queen C. Long time, no see."

"Yeah, well that worked for me." Cordy says. "But if you are through being all miss evil slutbomb, I can definitely say I am pleased to see you."

"No promises on the latter." Faith says. "But the former is definitely open to negotiation."

The door is opened wide and Cordelia steps aside. I try to give my most encouraging look to Faith, which she seems to appreciate as she straightens her back, lifts her head and instantly appears to be cool and collected. I give her a grin and taking her hand, step inside.

The gang are all here. Mostly. Willow is hunched over her laptop on the dining table, dressed in a crimson long sleeved top and rust orange skirt. Giles is sitting next to her, pouring over a pile of open books… not ancient tomes, but modern red legers. He is wearing a hurriedly put on pale blue shirt, the buttons not quite lined up with the correct holes. I glimpse a flash of bright blue in the kitchenette, which is obviously Tara. The only absentee Scoobie being Anya.

A moment after I enter, the room stops and all gazes fall on Faith. I feel her hand squeeze down on mine. I trace the pad of my thumb across the back hers, a gentle reminder that I am there.

"Somebody order a back up Slayer?" She says.

"It's good to see you Faith. Do come in." Giles stands, a little cautiously, as one might move when trying not to spook an animal. "Good morning Lexi."

"Hey."

Willow's glare isn't something I have seen on her face before. It's piercing, focused, predatory. Her lips are curled slightly and her nose wrinkles like a growl. I can feel the wolf inside her moving. It gives me serious hyena spirit vibes, and that does not sit well on my empty stomach.

"Red." Faith says, that wall and moat firmly in place. They glare at each other, neither giving an inch. I am note entirely sure stepping between them is a good idea.

"Hey, hi." Tara appears beside us, hair freshly dyed blue. She is wearing a light purple top that hangs off one shoulder, purple striped woollen arm warmers and a vibrant, deep blue skirt. Clutched to her chest is a small black and grey kitten with a white patch on it's nose. Tara offers her free hand to Faith. "I'm Tara. You must be Faith. I-i-t's good to finally meet you."

Faith cautiously takes the witches hand and they shake. Then she notices the kitten, and her face softens. Faith extends a finger to touch her, but pauses, uncertain.

"Oh, this is Miss Kitty Fantastico." Tara smiles. "Go on, you can hold her. She actually likes being held. We're lucky." As the kitten is placed into Faith's arms, she looks genuinely terrified.

"She's adorable." Faith coos. The kitten places her paw on Faith's nose and Tara and I laugh.

"Oz needs us." Willow snaps. "So if you could quit messing around with that stinking little furball and help that would be just peachy."

"Yes, well, I think we could all do with some breakfast. Lexi, would you be so kind as to go on a food run whilst I talk to Faith, that would be extremely helpful."

I look at Faith, wanting to offer her an out, but she sucks in a breath and nods. The kitten is kissed and handed back to Tara.

"Well, okay then G Man. Let's do this."

* * *

I am walking down the main street clutching four bags of food and trying to juggle a fifth when the chills hit my spine and I get the urge to duck away.

I find myself in that clothing shop, the leather heavy one with the boarded up window. I am confused by my own actions, unsure of what exactly I saw that got my heckles up.

I glance back out the window onto the street. A young, muscular man stands on the corner opposite, tight grey T-shirt and sharply pressed tan pants. At first, I am uncertain why I found a glimpse of him to be chilling, but as I look around I notice another boy across the street from him standing in a similar fashion. They are scouring the people, looking for someone. And as I look, I realise I know the boy. It is that Riley guy. The one Joyce thought Buffy was dating. He raises his hand to his ear and mutters something. Is that an ear piece? Who the hell is this guy?

"Hi. Welcome to Sadie's House of Darkness. Can I help you, miss?" A sweet girly voice says. I turn to see a pale blonde girl with blonde corkscrew curls, red lips and a choker. I glance around at the store, then back out to the former frat boys.

"Uh, yes. Uhm… I have been kind of wanting a change of wardrobe, yunno, like a major one. But… I am a little nervous."

"I completely understand, don't worry, I am here to help."

"Thanks, uh..." I glance at her name tag "Chanterelle." I look over my shoulder as Riley passes by the window, a frustrated look on his face. I turn my back and lead the girl deeper into the shop.

* * *

One black low cut tight black top (for tips, natch) and equally form hugging maroon leather pants later and the coast is clear. Still, I take the back alleys and check my six all the way back to Giles'.

"So I think I figured out who our black masked soldiers are." I say, coming through from the kitchen.

"The Lowell House fraternity." Giles says, turning around one of the red ledgers spread out on the kitchen table, I can see clearly that they are school records. "Willow figured it out from Corelia's description from her vision."

"I thought of it before, but the records I checked were digital." Willow says. "They had been hacked. Tara suggested we checked the hard copies of the university files to be sure."

"I… I… broke in l-last night and stole them." Tara says, rather proudly.

"Way to go Tare." Faith says. She is standing behind the table where everyone else is sat, leaning against the back of the couch.

"I-it was super scary. Quite a rush, though." Tara grins at Faith. Willow clears her throat.

"They all appear out of nowhere. So I dug further and it turns out, the entire building was derelict since it was purchased several years before."

"Lemme guess" I say. "US Millitary." Willow looks surprised. I tap my skull. "G.I. Jane upgrade from Ethan Rayne. All their gear was standard military issue. Shipping crates, codes, hard cases. Everything."

"A secret military research base under Sunny U?" Tara says, shaking her head. "That was definately not in the brochure."

"The implications of this are frankly, chilling. The house had mystical defenses, wards of protection, of demon repulsion. And we know they are experimenting on poor Oz."

"Militarized magic. Werewolf soldiers." Cordelia says, she lets out a long huff. "more migranes."

"What we saw was more like Frankenstein, yo." Faith says. "Like, a whole bunch of demons put together."

"The fools don't know the terrible forces they are messing with." Giles says soberly.

"They are out there in the streets, looking for someone." I say. "My guess is they didn't come to my place looking for Faith. I was at the house the night of the accident, sure, but… the FBI saw me get called. I wrecked a table and ran off. They knew about the weird stuff going on, Marcy Ross, Pete. What if they know about Slayers?."

"You are certain you were not followed here?"

"Yes. Certain. Ninety percent certain. High eighties." I say.

"Well, they sure as hell know what I can do." Faith said. "I wasn't exactly subtle."

A thumping on the ceiling draws our attention upwards.

"Can I stake him already?" I mutter.

"Dude up there says he got information." Faith says, her head cocked to one side. I hear the muffled words through the plaster, and the rattle of metal. "Ain't one to judge, but you got some guy chained up in a tub, Giles?"

I sigh, and make my way to the stairs.


	47. And Knowing Is Half The Battle

Chapter 46

And Knowing Is Half The Battle

"Did you miss me?" Spike grins as I push open the door.

"I remember it being a direct hit." I say. "Spill."

"Now, now. That's not how it works, Slayer. Tit for tat." he glances down at my chest, causing me to cross my arms. "I tell you about your soldier boy problem, after you get me something nummy to eat." Faith appears by my side, and leans on the doorpost.

"Oh, you shouldn't have." Spike says.

"She's not for you." I growl, and kick his foot. He chuckles. "But a deal's a deal. A juicy pack of O neg if you help us find Oz."

"Tell you wot. You let me bite her and I will tell you all about the facility."

"Sure, go ahead." I gesture. Faith scowls. "Oh, no Faith, he- he can't bite anyone. Apparently."

"Faith?" Spike says, leaning back to rake his eyes over the slayer in question. "Wait a minute. Faith, as in, The Mayor's little pet Slayer Faith?"

In an instant, Faith has slammed Spike up the wall by the throat so hard the tiles crack. He chuckles through the pain, until she squeezes the last air from his throat and silences him.

"You know, I always wondered if I could rip a vampire's head off with my bare hands. Never really had the opportunity. I dunno, always up for a learning experience Are you? Waddya say? Shall we find out?" She punctuates each question by slamming his skull against the wall. Spike isn't laughing now.

"Oh. No. Faith. Stop. We need him." I say with a half hearted yawn, checking my nails for a chip.

Faith gives him one last slam and then releases him, turning and stepping away like thunderclouds passing by me. She leaves the small room and heads down the stairs, brushing past a scowling Willow. Spike is visibly shaken, finger shaped welts on his pale throat, but he tries to laugh it off nonetheless. I smirk at him to cover my own discomfort. I had been on the other end of that back in the day, and the memory lingers. Willow enters the room, clutching a blood bag and shoots me a look which I translate as "told you your new girlfriend is still a complete psycho". Wills and I get each. It's a thing.

"Rosenberg?" Spike says, his voice raspy. He coughs. "Oh, I see. You gave me the bad cop, now I get the good cop." He chuckles and coughs again. Now, Willow by this time is crouching over Spike, a disturbingly familiar syrupy smile plastered on her face.

"Actually Spike" the redhead says, "I am the one you should be worried about."

"You? Give me a break. You're softer than marshmallow bunny rabbits you are." Willow grins darkly and holds up a sparkling crystal sphere under Spikes nose. It glows a shimmering yellow from deep within.

"Oi. What's that?" He glances at me, nervously.

"This? Oh, just an Orb of Thesula. You know how Angel got cursed with a soul?" Willow purrs. "See, Faith? She can hurt your body nine ways til sunday and back again. I suspect you would enjoy that. But me? Well… little marshmallow me will ram a soul so far up your ass you will make big ole brooding Angel look like chuckles the clown."

"You wouldn't." Spike says, all his bravado gone.

"Oh, I very, very much would." Willow hisses, her piercing green eyes gazing into his, fearless and unblinking. A slow dark lipstick smile crawls over her pale face. "And more besides."

She boops the sphere against Spike's nose and stands. The blood bag is tossed at Spike's face. "Drink up, buttercup. You'll need your strength for all the talking you will be doing." And with that, Willow slinks out of the room, leaving two pairs of gaping mouths.

"That just happened, right?" Spike says.

"You should see her on a full moon." I say.

* * *

"Well, the whole gang's here." Spike says as I finish tying him to the chair in the living room. " 'Cept that ponse Xander… ouch. Give me a little slack there love, a guy has to breathe."

"You don't need to breathe, Spike." I hiss.

"To talk." He says, levelling a stare at me. He turns his attention back to the room. "Since you are obviously so clueless as to what has been going on."

"So. Elucidate us." Giles says.

"Been happening for a while. Demons and vamps, going missing. At first we thought that blonde bint was working overtime. But rumours started to circulate of masked men dragging us off, here and there. Thinning us out."

"Lowell house." Tara says.

"Well now," Spike smiles, turning his attention to the witch. "You must be the blue rug Buffy's been munching on." I hit the back of his head, possibly a bit hard, but hey, sue me, I don't know my own strength yet. "Ow. Actually, I owe you a thanks, Blue. You should have seen Soul Boy's face when I told him he made Goldilocks change teams. Bloody perfect."

Okay, maybe that probably deserved a hit, but I haven't quite gotten over my hate of Angel. My hand pauses and rakes through my hair to cover the smirk. Hey, I am a work in progress, deal.

"Stay on subject." Willow growls. "I can ensoul you whether you have your balls intact or not." Cordelia, Tara and Giles seemed as stunned by Willow as I am. Spike certainly seems to be taking her personality change seriously.

"It's called The Initiative, alright? Bunch of military brains. They capture us, drug us and do… experiments on us. "

"And you know this, how?"

"Why do you think I can't play with the other puppies now? Got myself a trip to that particular vet. They put some, electrical wotsit in me brain. Seems to go off when I try to hurt people. Spoil my fun." Giles puts on his glasses, and pulls his 'fascinating' face.

"So they just let you go?" Tara says.

"No." Spike says, firmly. "Played dead, I did. Made a run for it. Only just got out by the skin of my fangs. I am the only one who has managed it. So, what luck, I am the only one who can lead you to the entrance."

"What luck." I say, heavy on the sarcasm. "Except, that's a dead end. They torched the entrance, brought down the house with firebombs and most definitely collapsed the shaft leading down."

"First thing I had them do when I took over The Factory from The Annoying One is dig a way down to the sewers. Thing about evil lairs, see, is that you don't want them to be your trap in case some namby pamby do gooders come knocking. You always have more than one way in and out. Smart villains have bolt holes, sally ports, back doors.

"I didn't get out through any frat house. I came up… well, soon as the sun goes down I will take you. I owe them that inconvenience, at the very least."

"No dice." I say. "Tell us where it is."

"Can't. Gotta get my bearings ain't I? It's up in the campus grounds. Not my usual territory." I glance around the room, reading the faces.

"You can't be seriously considering trusting him. You know he is going to try and escape." I say.

"Well" Giles says, "I would say his chances of escaping two Slayers are slim to none, considering that, er, computer chip thing in his head that makes him impotent."

"Hey." Spike snaps.

"Fine. But so as you all know, I am officially registering my whole 'not liking it' thing." I grumble. "Okay, so Faith and I slip in, get Oz, kill whatever that monstrosity it is they are making and get out."

"I am going too." Willow says. "I need a back door into their computer systems. So we can find out what they know, who knows and disrupt it. They could have files on any of us. We won't get much rest until that information is history."

"Well then. We wait for sundown."

* * *

I am once again laying on the grass behind Gile's apartment, staring up at a sky full of thoughts and fears. But this time Faith is laying beside me, jacket discarded, her hand nervously drawing circles on my exposed belly. We have been silently awaiting the preparations for the spell to lift the curse. Seizing a little time to just be alone together.

"Lex?"

"Yeah."

"In case things go to hell." She says, eyes fixed on the sky. "You know I am in love with you, right?"

"I... did not know that."

"Yeah. Well. I am."

"You know I am in love with you too, right?"

"Cool." She grins.

"Yeah. It is." I say.

The kitchen door swings open and Giles appears.

"Faith. It's time."


	48. The Poison Of Words

Chapter 47

The Poison of Words

Tara, Giles and Willow have drawn an elaborate mystical pattern in what looks like bright green rock salt on the polished dark wood floor. Essentially, it's a big triangle with, yunno… wiggly woo woo stuff around it. In the middle sits Giles's reading chair, and in this light, it is looking far too ominously like the electric chair for my tastes.

Faith and I hover at the edge of the room, I can feel her tension.

"This gonna hurt?"

"I hope so." Willow says brightly.

I feel a flip of guilt in my belly as the girls stare each other down. Faith beat unconscious and kidnapped Willow, my best friend, holding her at knife point. And here I am asking her to accept her back into her life, to forgive her as I have, with no context. I should have spent time with Willow, and that's on me. I can't fault Willow's attitude.

Faith considers the girl for a moment, and then comes a nod of acceptance.

"Fair." Faith says.

I place my hand comfortingly on the small of Faith's back. An invisible gesture with an equally invisible reply of gratitude, as Faith pressed back into my touch. Her face is as composed and indifferent as usual, but I am starting to read through her walls. Through the palm of my hand I feel every muscle in her tense, feel her pulse jack to the roof, and I follow her gaze to the small marble top coffee table that has been pushed to one side. Upon it sits a rectangle of a deep green velvet, with a magical circle and symbols worked in gold thread. Two small clay statues of what seem to be plump women with sticks for hands sit either side, framed by candles. A shrine or altar of sorts, I guess. But it is what hovers a foot above the magic circle that has captured Faith's gaze. Her double bladed Jackal knife.

"D-don't touch it, Faith." Tara says. "It's more cursed than we suspected. It messes with your mind, makes you want to do stuff."

"What kinda stuff?"

"Uh… kill. It induces resentment, anger, jealousy. Takes away your inhibitions to harm others."

Faith takes this news hard, and shakes out her head, eyes unfocused. Her hand finds mine, and as it does, it is trembling.

"You hear that Faith?" I whisper. She looks at me, the resolve in her face cracking, her eyes glossy.

"He… wouldn't. He… oh god." She says. "Buffy she… and I… when the old man…"

"It was the knife, Faith."

"Oh, you don't get off that easy." Willow says. "You were a grade A evil bitch before that thing showed up. You stabbed us all in the back bef..."

Faith's strangled cry cuts Willow's tirade short. She folds, hands to knees, red faced, tears flowing from her in gouts as she gasps loudly for air. A rasping sob, and she buckles at the knees, her fingers clawing into bloodless fists.

I am too stunned to move, and I watch as the girl I love seems to implode. She kicks at the floor, driving herself back into the corner, dragging the carpet and furniture with her. She balls up, clutching her clawed hands over her head like she is sheltering from bombs.

"No, no, no" she repeats over and over. "He wouldn't. He wouldn't. He…" she lets out a roar that dies into sobs. I close the distance, unsure if touching her is the best idea, so just hover over her, at best a shield to hide her tears from the room.

"Can you give us a minute or two please?" I say to those gathered.

"Of course." Giles says. They filter out the room, the last face I see is a rather shell shocked Willow. It takes more than a few minutes for Faith to breathe evenly enough to form proper words again.

"He played me too." She said. "Everyone always does."

"People suck." I say. "I won't lie. It's a fact."

"My whole life, every goddamn time I… I think I find someone who… something to believe in that stops me sliding deeper and deeper and… " she trails off, punching at her own knee.

"He was like a dad to you." I say. "A real one. Not like the jerks you and I got lumped with."

"He fuckin' played me too. Everyone does. Wesly… Post… Buffy... Everyone."

"I'm sorry." I sigh. "What about your watcher. The one dish woman?"

"Diana." She sniffs. "Dunno. Maybe. She died before she could. I mean. What Giles did to Buffy? The Cruciamentum thing? She would have done that to me too, right? I mean, that's all we are, us Slayers. Disposable."

"Maybe she wouldn't have. Giles regrets what he did. He lost his place on the council because he had a father's love for Buffy."

"He still did it."

"He did." I sigh. "But no reason to think Diana would have. Regardless of disappointment, we hafta hope for the best in people. Okay, maybe not with ones who want to turn into big snakes and eat everyone, but, you get me, right?

"Sometimes you will be proved wrong. But sometimes, possibly rarely, but sometimes not."

"You believe that?" Faith looks up at me for the first time, broken from her haze. Her eyes take me in, flicking around my features. "You don't know me. Don't know what shit was runnin' through my head. What I planned. Willow is right about me. I am just bad. Evil."

"Faith, you got dealt a bad hand. It's the hand that's bad, not you, or the game. It's how you play it that matters. And you are here, doing the right thing. You hurting about it means you aren't evil. You have remorse. You have a soul. He tricked you into doing things you wouldn't have."

"You don't know that." She says.

"I remember when you arrived. You weren't… you were funny and carefree, but when it mattered, you ran into danger to save others. I remember you running at a werewolf with no weapons. A werewolf, Faith."

"I am not who you think I am."

"Maybe. I am a dumb ass, and the wool is almost permanently over my eyes, it is true. We both know that. But Faith, you are moments away from getting your powers back, and having a second chance to be the hero you were chosen to be. And who knows? You may prove me right."

"You didn't… I mean… you never played me, right?"

"Never. Never have. Never will." I sigh and rub my face. "Truth or silence, that was the deal."

"I saved you. You save me."

"So, er… How am I doing?"

Faith laughs tearfully and presses a hot kiss to my lips. Forehead to forehead, I can feel waves of emotion coming off of her. Swimming around in an ocean of pain and relief, love and hate The sweet and sour of life, condensed. She looks up at me through dark heavy lashes.

"B stabbed me when she held the knife. Do you think it affected her too?"

"Maybe. You still love her?"

"Always. Love and hate. Fighting and fucking. It all gets tangled up with us. Heh. Maybe it's a Slayer thing?" I smile at the memory of Buffy on the dream beach Faith is unconsciously summoning.

"I love her too." I confess. "So maybe it is."

"Threesome?" Faith says with a waggle of her brow.

"There's my girl." I laugh, and kiss her. "You ready to get this show on the road?"

"Yeah. Yes. I think I am."


	49. Shot To The Heart

Chapter 48

Shot To The Heart

We find the gang in the small communal back garden. Tara crossed legged on the wall of the water feature, Giles standing beside her, chin in hand, pensive. Both are watching Cordelia and Willow having an animated, hissingly whispered argument.

"We all know him. He will run." Willow says. "This will guarantee his compliance."

"You don't know that." Cordelia counters, stabbing a finger at the ginger witch. "You know what I think? You and your new 'tude just want to torture him back for the whole kidnapping 'fluke' thing."

"Still? And newsflash, he kidnapped you too!"

"Who hasn't? The point is, Spike is an asshole. A soul or not, it won't make him good. It just gives him the choice to be. I should know. I spent long enough with Angel moping about it."

"Right now, he is an asshole and evil."

"Think it through, braniac- you are forgetting Angel spent years in angstville recovering from the combined trauma bomb of the curse. You do this, Spike may be no good for anyone for god knows how long." Willow stabs the air to make a point, but the point falls from her. She tightens her mouth and stabs her finger once more before retracting it.

"Ahh, Angstville, Tennessee " I say, fake fondly. "Stopped there on my road trip. Got the t-shirt. Good times."

All eyes fall on me and Faith. Faith and me? Faith and I. Excuse me, I am kind of too nervous right now for grammar. Faith and I. Look, there is much looking.

"Ready?" Tara says, sucking in enough of the tense air to somehow transform it into a smile. Faith grins, hands on hips. The front is back.

"Yeah. Had me a moment. Dealt… so… you're up Tinkerbell." Tara smiles sympathetically and pushes herself up off the edge of the fountain and loops her arm through Faith's.

"It's okay. This spell is actually super simple, my m-mom used it all the time. It's one of the first she showed me."

Faith smiles awkwardly at the blue haired witch leads us all back inside. I am surprised by the ease with which the two engage, considering what Tara told me about the long shadow Faith cast over her and Buffy's relationship. If each scooby could be labelled for the quality they most bring, she was the kindness, perhaps something we could all use a little more of. Even me. Still, I am grateful it is Tara performing the spell, not Willow.

So here we are again, in the living room. a chair, a magic circle and the dagger that caused so much trouble.

"So I gotta sit here, or…"

"Yes please. Or you can stand, but you will probably get a little nauseated and dizzy." Faith shrugs and sits down, one leg folded up underneath her, outwardly casual. Tara hands Faith a wooden bowl. "Okay so you are going to feel like you sorta want to barf. Don't resist. Just go with it, okay. We want it all out of you."

"I just puke out the curse?"

"Well… kind of… the curse's words are in your veins, in the blood, so it will be drawn into your belly and out the quickest way. Don't worry, it's pretty quick. Over in a second. Are you good?"

"Depends who you ask." Faith says. She places the bowl on her lap. Tara gives her an assuring smile and closes her eyes. I catch myself stepping back against the wall. Magic and me? Not friends.

"One important thing though Faith, everyone… don't break the circle or stop the ritual until it is all out of her. Curses can get all jumbly and leak out. Got it?"

We all murmer and nod. Faith's eyes fall on me and she gives me a wink. So then Tara begins to hum. It is soft at first, but grows more intense with each breath until mumbled words form. Faith sits watching her, one eyebrow cocked. Her eyes flick to me, this time her nerves are showing and I give her a smile. She returns it, before focusing back to the chanting witch.

Maybe it's my Slayer senses but I feel the change in the room, like the spaces between everything darkens and tightens. My spine lights up like fireworks and I shudder, seeing the gesture repeating on Faith. Her full lips are pursed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly. I see her right hand slip back from the bowl, fingers pressing gently against her abdomen. She lets out an uncomfortable grunt and swallows hard.

Willow's hand is on my arm, and I realise she is close by my side, and boy am I needing the offered comfort. I glance at my friend, finding even more comfort in the disinterested, apathetic way she watches. To her this is humdrum. Easy. Over in a sec.

But as soon as I relax, Willow's brow furrows and her fingers tighten. I turn to see Faith straining forward, neck muscles tense, jaw clenched, one hand is clutching at the chair, the other pressing hard into her belly.

To my horror, I see her pallid sickly flesh grey further, as what seems like ink crawls up her veins.

"Uh Tara?" I say. Willow steps between us.

"Don't break the spell. The curse will get spread to us." She warns. Then another nervous look over her shoulder at the scene. "That's… gee… quite a lot."

Faith is gasping now, a sickening noise issuing from deep within her. Her veins bulge and darken, the blackness crawling up and up, until it reaches her panicked face. Then, after I think she is gonna choke to death on whatever it is, this hissing silvery substance spurts from her mouth, filling the bowl in two great gushes.Faith's head rolls back and her arms go slack. She takes in a deep breath.

Tara stops chanting and steps back, seemingly satisfied.

"I am so glad I chose the polished wood over carpeting." Giles mumbles. Cordelia nods, staring at the scene with that familiar old sneer of disgust.

But then Faith spasms, and the bowl crashes to the ground, the quick silver like liquid spraying up, hissing and burning to ash at it contacts the invisible barrier formed by the magic circle. She spasms again, and tilts her head back, black veins once again appearing on her throat.

"There's more!"

"Help her!"

"Tara, keep it going!" Willow says, and Tara hurriedly returns to chanting, but she stammers through the next lines. Giles steps in, reading from a book in awkward sentences, words half remembered and translated on the fly. Tara is flustered, catching words from Giles, leading her into her chant.

Faith wretches hard, and the metallic stream comes again, filling the air with a screeching, unnatural sound that rakes across my nerves, like… a whispering from hell. Willow's unnaturally strong hand seizes me again. "No, Xan, if you interrupt the circle… it… it could do anything to us all, make us all... turn on each other... even kill."

I am shaking as I watch the girl I love clutching the chair, the dark metal flowing from her mouth and… god… so much is coming out now, how can she breathe?

"She can't." I say. "She can't breathe."

My body is swimming with the need to act.

My skin is crackling, and my nerves trickle like ice as the magic in the room amps up, and it takes all I can to nail my feet to the hardwood floor and not leap in to save Faith.

A sharp burst of something like ozone comes from the circle and the light bulbs shatter, leaving the room to the mercy of the shaking, shuddering candle light. The voices are loud now, but loud in my skull, not in my ears. Tara and Giles are shouting the chant, the words cutting through the strange sensations I am feeling, and I wonder if it is my Slayer senses or are the words leaking out, poisoning us all. Do I feel the urge to kill rising? How could I tell? Now that The Slayer is in me, that dark force… could I even tell? Could I...

A gunshot rings out, ear splitting close. My body turns to arctic rock for a moment before my heart roars into overdrive, sending me whirling around.

I turn to see the silhouette standing in the archway to the kitchen, gun raised to the ceiling, before it is levelled with deadly proficiency towards us. A Glock 22, .44 caliber with a 15 round capacity, which meant 14 rounds left after the warning shot (Thanks a bunch Ethan Rayne).

"Stop!" The woman yells in a raspy, panicked voice. "Whatever you are doing, stop! Let her go!"

The woman attached to the gun is familiar, mid 40s, with a stern, slender face and strong cheek bones. Her lower lip full, her upper thin and trembling, and in the juncture of her left cheek a mole. Her hair is dirty blonde with flecks of grey, pulled into a loose ponytail, strands falling disheveled around her face. The barrel of her mouth reminds me of Willow's… and… oh, I know her now. Esther Rosenberg. The so called FBI agent.

"I said stop!"

Tara's voice cracks but she keeps chanting. The gun is levelled at her.

"She cannot stop, it will kill the girl." Giles says, pulling himself directly in the firing line, arms outstretched, "please, I beg you, you must let her finish."

"Do it, or I will take you down." She says.

I should move. I could move. I could rush forward and take the gun before she could squeeze, couldn't I? I have Slayer speed... I could… oh god Buffy, so much blood. Buffy couldn't. The sound of Buffy's chest as she tried to breathe… I... Buffy…

"Please, listen to me." Giles says. "They are removing a curse, it can be deadly if-"

"So is lead. Step away. Last chance." The woman says.

"Screw this." Willow growls and, well, she just strides towards the agent, feet thumping against the bare wood. The next thing I know, two flashes in quick succession and terror flows through my veins. I watch in slow motion as Willow jerks and staggers, the shock of the bullets punching through her tugs back the fabric of her top into little tents before the string of blood stabs outwards.

Esther's face contorts in horror at what she has done, and in the moment her hands go slack and the barrel lowers, I finally will my body to move. I have the hot metal in my hand a moment later and fling the gun to the far wall.

"Oh my god, oh my god." She sobs, and I confess that moment of humanity is all that stops me from pouring out my revenge. She slides to her knees.

Willow is hunched over, still standing, hands at her sides. She then looks down at the holes in her chest.

"Ow." She says. "Also… ow." She then straightens up.

"Willow?" I say, mouthing the air like a landed fish.

"Pesky mortal wounds." She shrugs, and that realization flows hope through me. Willow will be fine. Because Willow is a werewolf.

The atmosphere in the room changes, and a burst of green light issues from the circle. Tara is in the circle, holding the limp form of Faith. I rush over.

"She's okay Lexi." Tara says, "she just fainted."

"It's out? It's gone?" Tara nods, and the burden of the girl is passed to me. I can feel the feverish waves of heat coming off her. "Faith? Can you hear me? Faith, please… "

Her watery eyes open, just a crack, and she draws in a ragged breath. A smile forms on her reddening lips as she focuses at me.

"You dork." She says, her voice a faint croak. I wrap my arms around Faith and press my face into the crook of her neck.

"How? How? I shot... What? What are you?" The agent scrambles back, disbelief in her eyes. "What the hell are you?"

"One of the good guys" Cordelia, says, now brandishing the gun. "-Ish. And while we are playing Jeopardy, I will take Who The Hell Are You? For $600"


	50. What You Need

Chapter 49

What You Need

Even in the dim warm glow of Gile's bedside lamp, I can see the color returning to Faith's beautiful features. She is sleeping, a deep, unreachable sleep. Her breathing smooth and even, her brow loose and unworried, no sign of dark dreams behind those bruised eyelids. I envy her the rest, but I am glad nonetheless.

The split on her lip has closed, I watched as the delicate flesh ever so slowly knitted into silvery white scar tissue, and, along with the long white rake across her cheek, fading away as if no harm had ever come to it.

Downstairs I can hear the voices as clear as if I were standing among them. I can even hear the clacking of keys and soft chirps of the modem as Willow confirms the facts.

Esther Rosenberg (43), it seems, really is an FBI agent. Or was. She and her partner Phillipa Clacy had been fired a year ago in a scandal over two murdered children. They had been investigating cults, human sacrifices, ritualistic killings, brainwashings, culminating in what their superior had said 'amounted to a vendetta' against a certain Mayor of a certain town. The scandal followed shortly, and conveniently after. The Mayor's slithering shadow extended far further than Sunnydale.

I bestow a kiss on Faith's forehead and make my way down stairs. Giles has replaced the lightbulbs, and the room has returned to relative normalcy- by which, of course, I mean a disgraced FBI agent is tied to the chair previously used for an exorcism of sorts. My normal is not your normal.

"Where is she?" The woman growls.

"Of whom do you refer?" Says Giles.

"Cut the crap. You know who." She looks around the room at the gathered faces.

"Your partner? Agent Clacy?" Tara offers.

"What have you done to her?"

"Nothing, I assure you. So I take it your partner is missing and you came here because we are high on your suspect list."

"Where is she?"

"I am truly sorry, Ms. Rosenberg, but we are not involved in her going missing. In fact we ourselves are investigating a missing person. A young man who was kidnapped the night Buffy and Willow were shot. We have evidence of who they are, and a lead as to where they may be keeping their captives. It is likely your partner was taken by the same people."

"Look all that posh tosh British charm may work on your little disciples here, but I know all about you Ripper." The woman smiles darkly as he flinches at the nickname. "And your little secret society… The Watchers Council."

"And what, precisely, do you claim to know?"

"I know wherever The Watchers go, I find a string of teenagers dead or missing under mysterious circumstances. Going insane, ritualistic killings, murdering classmates. Like here, with you. What's your body count now Rupert?"

"Lady, you got it the wrong way around." Cordelia says. "Giles is the one trying to stop those things. Fight them."

"You stupid girl, he's brainwashed you. You don't know your ass from your elbow. You're all puppets being experimented on… they are making you all inhuman, one by one. He is making you monsters."

"You got it all wrong." I say.

"Really? Buffy Summers, normal medical history, low grade student, until she comes here. Then a long string of hospital trips, miraculously healing wounds that left doctors baffled, several murder changes… Ted Buchanan, Kendra Smart… she is in so many redacted police reports listing teen murders it practically reads like semaphore. Vandalism, school property damage- suspected of burning down Hemry High gymnasium and blowing up the Sunnydale High and yet… no charges stick, records vanish and… don't you know, all that ties up with calls too and fro to the same address in England."

"Yes, well, Buffy is…"

"Dead. But no body at the morgue. Weird, don't you think? Also missing with no body? Willow Rosenberg and… and… who I just shot twice in the heart at point blank range, and… and… is currently sitting calmly drinking herbal tea!"

"Oh, I am sorry, didya want a cup?" Willow says, quite sincerely.

"You're not human!" She says. "None of you are. All of you have been… been tampered with by The Watchers."

"That's not true! We are..." I say, but then look around the room. Oh. "It's not the Watchers. Okay. Buffy, me… we are chosen ones… into each generation… er... gifted with the strength and the… the… Giles does better than me."

"All the supernatural stuff really exist, some are bad, some are good. The good ones fight the bad ones and it is all a big secret for god knows what reason. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Are we all caught up?" Cordelia says with a shrug. "What?"

Willow pushes herself off the wall and snaps shut her computer.

"Look. I don't have time for this. Right now Oz is somewhere out there having god knows what done to him, and he needs me. Us. We stick to the plan."

"Faith is out of action." Tara says.

"But she is fine." Willow says, her finger indicating 'she' being me. "Suns going down. We get Spike and go. Now."

"We should wait for Faith." Giles says. I want to agree, but the sinking feeling in my gut tells me to resist. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair.

"If those two figured out we are connected, the Initiative won't be far behind. We need to shut them down. As fast as we can."

"Lexi, you are untrained. You are not ready." Giles says. I look around the room, frustrated, until my eyes fall on Cordy. A memory hits me, and a smile follows.

"As a Slayer, maybe. But that's not what we need right now." I grab up my jacket, and a vial of holy water and head for the stairs. "And what we need right now I AM trained in."

"What on earth do you mean?" Giles says.

"You wanna sneak onto a military base? What you need is a soldier."

* * *

Okay, quick reality check needed. I am girl now. Not just any girl, but I am a Slayer. Okay, cool, got that bit. Right, also this girl that I am is currently dressed in a black polo neck and combat pants, a balaclava rolled up like a cap on my head, and a stolen FBI pistol on my hip. Okay. My best friend, who just survived a double tap to the heart like it was a rubber band gun , is dressed likewise. My nemesis, the nightmare made flesh who bit into my throat and drank my blood and left me with the deepest scar I will probably ever have, is humming The Ramones as we all casually stroll to the university to rescue a werewolf from a top secret military base. Okay. Got that all Lexi? You got all that?

"Can you stop humming." Willow growls.

"Oh, do forgive me for disturbing all the witty banter between you two." Spike says. "I take it you haven't made nice with Buffy's replacement yet?"

"That's none of your business, Spike."

"Understandable. Best friend of years cruelly murdered and suddenly Suzy Sunshine here pops up to fill the gap. Doesn't really measure up to Buffy, does she?"

"Can it, Spike" I say.

"And what of Xander Harris? Did the pathetic whelp finally abandon you, Willow? Like Oz did?" That's it, I grab Spike by the collar and drag him down towards me, fist raised to wipe the smirk off his face, but in so doing his face is suddenly very, very close to my face. His eyes glint wickedly in the moonlight. I swallow and my fist waivers. "What are you gonna do, Lexi Hart? Gonna stake me?" He chuckles. "Way, I see it, I get a free pass on saying whatever the hell I like right now. You need me."

"Fine." I say. "Say what you like. Let's face it, with that chip in your head, just talking is all you do to us right now." Spike's eyes scrunch for a moment at the barb, but the mischief returns.

"Not the only thing I could do to you, Lexi." Spike grins. He sniffs the air, just a faint gesture, but I know what it is he can smell and I hate my body for it.

"Ew. That's it. Ten feet forward. I have a gun, remember. It won't kill you, but I am an ex soldier and can kneecap you plenty good."

Spike smiles and shrugs. With a sweep of his duster, he strides on ahead of us. We walk on in silence for a while, until that silence seems to be an admission of how Spike's observation of the state of our friendship. Willow breaks first.

"Don't let him get under your skin" She says.

"Too late for that. He's already under my skin. He's been inside me for months." Willow looks at me with something like disgusted curiosity. "I mean, psychologically. And he knows it, that bitey British bastard." That last bit mumbled more to myself.

"Maybe it's a Slayer thing. You and vampires, right?" Willow smirks. "Buffy swooned over Angel. You swoon over-"

"I do not swoon. There is no swooning. This is a swoon free zone." I grit my teeth. "Soon as this truce is over, I am staking him. Good and hard."

"And not in the least bit Freudian." Comes the response.

"You dropped out of psych 101, so quit it. Besides, whilst we are all psychoanalyzing, what's the what with you and Oz? You seem hell bent on saving him. Way beyond resolve face. You still love him? I thought you where gay."

"Of course I love him. And… and… I am gay. This is different. It's primal, Xand. Sorry… Lexi. I don't think anyone would understand. It's like, after I changed he and I… it's like a… uh..."

"A pack thing." I say. "You forget, I totally get that."

Willow scours her memory before her eyes light up. "Oh" she says. "The hyena thing. But I thought you said you don't remember anything about- oh."

"Not a word to anyone." I say, feeling my cheeks flush "Especially Buffy. So yeah, I get it. You're pack… You're family. Let's go get your boy."

"We're family too." Willow says. "We are still family, right?"

"Scoobies for life." I grin.

"So… " Willow says, her face fighting between blushes and smirks. "You know werewolves have amazing senses of smell too, right?"

"Not. A. Word." I growl.

* * *

"Here." Says Spike for the third time. "This is definitely it." He looks around at the campus to get his bearings, points to a building with a clock and to a tree. "Just up here, on that grassy ridge."

"Definitely? Like the last two 'Definatelys' where definately lacking in their definitive-ness… ness. You do know what definitely means?" I say.

"I was running for my life. I wasn't exactly stopping to take compass readings." I follow the vampire up the small hill next to the biology department.

"I swear Spike, if you are leading us on a wild goose chase it won't be the heart I stake you through first."

"Aha! Told you." The vampire gestures at his feet, a smug smile on his pale face. "See. One secret military base entrance."

"It's a man hole." I say flatly.

"No. It's says 'secret lab' right there on the lid."

"Where?"

"Next to Doctor Lexi Hart, phd in stupid."

"Nice." I scowl. But my face falls when he presses on the manhole and it hisses open on a hydraulic arm. A vent of steam gushes up, filling the air with a stench like detergent. I step to the edge and see dim lights far below.

"See, my love. The Big Bad always delivers on his promises."

"I stand corrected. Well, Spike, in you go."

"That was not the deal. Also… no bloody way." Spike stuffs his hands into the pockets of his duster and rocks back on his heels. "Barely got out of there the first time."

"You said you owed them." Willow growls.

"Which is why I led you here. So, have fun kids."

"In. Now." I scowl.

"Okay. Okay, keep your knickers on Slayer." He sighs, and then grins. "Oh wait... better plan." And in a swirl of his duster he dashes off towards the bushes. I start to give chase but Willow seizes me by the webbing.

"Oz!" She says. I skid to a halt and throw my arms up in the air. "Besides, he is chipped. He can't hurt anyone. Can't feed." I sigh, she is making sense.

"Fine, but you ensoul that bastard as soon as we get back. Extra soul. Like, Ray Charles levels of soul."

I watch Spike's lean silhouette disappearing across the courtyard and off into the shadows of the night where he belongs.


	51. Quite The Ride

Chapter 50

Quite The Ride

**Authors Note:** _Hello all, thanks for the wonderful support and encouragement you have given me to get through this story As I write, our world is being shaken by pandemics and uprisings, activism and controversies and I haven't had the mojo to finish a chapter in a while. We could all do with some positive things right now, so I pushed through and got the next few chapters ready. It is bittersweet being in the final leg of this one, as I have come to love poor Lexi Hart quite a bit. Maybe she has another story in her to tell? I am not sure. Love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Thanks for following me, and wherever you are in the world, stay safe, self care and when times get tough, remember your kindness and humanity makes it all worth it. What would Buffy do?_

_Now… on with the show._

* * *

Thunder shakes through me, bristling the hair on my body and snapping me awake. I taste ozone and blood, and my nostrils fill with the scrap yard smell of decaying metal.

I am on a beach in the dead of night. Rain clouds rumble over head like a slow motion stampede of colossal beasts. I feel so small and vulnerable beneath the sky, so insignificant.

As I scramble to my feet, I become aware that I am a small boy again, my swimming trunks sea soaked and slimey with sand, my skin cold and clammy with fever. Where are my parents? They… they are nowhere to be seen. I scan the dark empty beach, feeling more and more lost by the second.

"How could they forget me?"

"Easily." Willow says, huffing a lock of soaked ginger hair from her big, round, innocent eyes. This is the Willow I remember, the child, not the woman she became. Not the selfish, meddling witch or the angry werewolf, not the one I wanted to kiss until the world fell apart (which it did, because of us). No, this Willow is sitting on the floor beside me, clawing damp sand up the side of a sand castle. "Mine forget about me too. But, It's okay. I can fix it. See? I am building a castle for us to live in. I can be a princess. You can be my prince."

"Neither of us want that." I say, feeling the dream words fall from my boyish lips. "Once this is all washed away." Willow squints at me, not understanding, and then looks out to sea.

I follow her gaze and see it coming, a great cargo ship, rotten and ramshackle, looming over us. It will be here soon.

My skin stings and I flinch and cower from the lightning that jags across the ocean sky.

"Relax Xander." Willow says. "You have a one in eighty thousand chance of being struck by lightning."

"You don't understand, Willow. I was chosen for this."

The lightning rips down from the sky and everything turns white. Pain rushes through me, starting at my heart and streaking across my chest and out through my body like a searing star. Everything tenses, everything falls silent and for a moment I am in darkness.

I am falling. Falling.

The air rushes from my lungs as I am painfully slammed into the floor. Dirt falls on my face, the stench of decaying plant matter filling my senses. Disoriented, I scramble to stand, finding nothing but pitch darkness and walls of sodden soil. Rain is falling on my cold flesh, and as I look up, a blinding flash of purple light scorches a rectangle onto my vision.

A grave. I am in a grave.

In a panic I scramble, being rewarded by nothing but more soil falling down onto me. I spit and gasp and flail, until I come to my senses. Think Lexi. Think.

I look at my bloodied, filthy hands, and realise I am a woman again. A Slayer again; I am full grown, I have what I need. I brace my back against the wall and push both feet hard against the opposite side. I am short, but the grave is narrow, and with my new strength I find it easy to bridge between. Good. I work myself up steadily, climbing hand by hand, foot by foot upwards towards the air.

As I scramble free of the hole, another peel of lightning crackles around me, setting the hairs on my skin on end. But I can see now, get my bearings, I am in a graveyard, my short black dress soaked to my chilled skin and my dirty hair matted about my face.

Another peel of lightning flashes and flickers like a broken lamp, and in an instant it is a broken lamp, and the graveyard now has plaster walls and a messy bed scattered with comic books. Beneath my feet the carpet of wet grass remains, but I am no longer in the graveyard. This is Faith's apartment.

A grunt and a metallic crunch rings out through the room. Glass shatters onto the grass at my feet, and I turn to see the silhouettes of two girls fall through what remains of the great arched window.

"Stop!" I call out, as I recognise them. It is Buffy and Faith, locked in combat, veering closer to the edge. Buffy wears black, with red licorice pants, the look on her face primal with rage. Faith lashes out and strikes Buffy with a back hand, but Buffy moves quickly, and by the time I am at the window she had Faith pinned. A hand cuff clicks into place.

"Stop! Stop this!"

"I don't think we can." Buffy says emotionlessly, not looking up. "We're joined." She raises her hand to show me the cuff. Faith sweeps her leg and sends her crashing hard. The fight turns and Faith pounds the blonde Slayer with all the fury she has burning in her. The chain that binds them snaps, and they spring apart. Faith freezes in horror as Buffy draws her dagger.

"Stop. I need you to stop!" I cry, and leap between them.

"Xander, step aside. Don't you see? It's always going to be like this." Buffy says. "We have no choice."

"Buffy, listen to me, it's the knife. It's the knife that is doing this."

"You're wrong, Xander." Buffy says. "I came here to kill her."

"But you didn't." I groan, trying my best to hold Faith's dead weight. "She survived. And she is better now."

"I am a killer. We all are."

"You regretted it. She regrets it. We need to move on, heal... together."

"Not all wounds heal" Buffy says, touching her throat. "But it'll be okay. He sees me now. They are coming for me."

"Buffy… what is going on? Why are we doing this? This has to be a dream right? A Slayer dream?"

"You look tired." Buffy says.

"We all do." Faith says, as she pulls me into an embrace. Her arms fill me with warmth, and I lean back into her with a sigh. "Not long to go now."

"Did I… how am I here?" I say.

"How am I here?" Faith sighs. "Spell go that bad, huh?."

"No, you're just sleeping. Exhausted." I say as I caress her cheek, revelling in the warmth of her skin on my numb fingers. "I remember leaving you. Kissing your forehead and going on without you to… I don't get it, how am I here? Am I asleep?"

"Maybe. Or maybe we all… well, if Kendra shows up I guess it will answer that." Buffy says with a sad smile that quickly turns mischievous "look at you both. You look so cute together."

"Bite me, Summers." Faith says, her breath hot on my ear. "I don't do cute, remember."

"I was with Willow and… we were on this ridge, Spike took us to this grassy ridge by the chemistry department… I met Willow there once… and… I remember climbing down a ladder, then…" I throw my hands up in frustration.

"You should stay here, It's warm." Faith whispers, drawing my face to meet hers. "We should all stay." And I smile at that thought as she kisses my lips, warm and slow. I want to, god help me I want to, byt the feeling of dread is clawing at me something awful.

"We can't." I whisper, and look up at the giant shipping boat that looms over us, slowly ploughing through the buildings, a juggernaut tearing everything apart in its path. "We can't. Because of what we are."

"Acceptance." Buffy says, looking up at the ship. "That's the last step on the scale. Well, self sacrifice, but I only plan to jump off that bridge when I come to it."

"Tower." I say, without knowing why.

"Self sacrifice." Buffy says, glancing to the sky. The stars look like a thousand pairs of malevolent eyes, glistening, waiting. "That's what makes a hero. Not how we are born, or how strong we are. It's making the choice. This is the work we do."

I sigh as Faith's arms pull me tighter to her body, pouring warmth into me. I want to close my eyes and curl up, to lose myself in her. I nuzzle into the crook of her neck, my lips grazing the sea salt tasting flesh. I shift, and kiss Faith upon the lips, fully and completely.

"I need to wake up." I say. Faith nods, sadly. She holds my hand as I step up onto the ledge. "I am sorry, Faith, let go. I need you to let me go. I need to wake up. Please..." Jesus, It's a long way to fall."

"I ain't stoppin' ya babe." She says, and joins me on the ledge. The stone beneath our feet shudders and cracks in the wake of the monstrous ship. "I am coming too."

"I hate heights." I grumble.

"Oh yeah, you're definately gonna hate this then." She smiles, nervously. "Quite the ride."

And, hand in hand, we step off the ledge.


	52. Return To Oz Is SO Not A Kids Movie

Chapter 51

Return To Oz is SO not a Kids Movie

Falling in a Slayer dream is every bit as terrifying as in real life, and it's as my body smashes down into the bed of a passing truck that I realise it's because I am sharing Faith's memory. I feel the wet crack and following failed attempt at inflating my lungs, and then the pain begins to flood through me. Or her. Or us.

I realise a few moments later as the pain shifts to a bubbling, fizzing sensation that it no longer her memory but my reality. I am waking up to a body stinging store and numb all at once, my limbs limp and heavy, my fingers twitching of their own accord. I am face down, wrists cuffed together, being carried by the elbows between two huge soldiers down a dimly lit corridor of stone, my legs trailing uselessly behind me along the steel treadplate. I can't see far through my loose hair, but I make out a row of cells to my left. We stop, and a door hisses open.

"Special delivery" a boy's voice says.

"Cell fifteen for this one and… wait a minute. Willow?" A deeper voice that I swear I remember from somewhere, I try to look up but my damned neck is in la la land right now. "That's Willow Rosenberg. You remember? Buffy's friend?"

"Can't say I do." Says the first voice.

"Oh shit, hey, I know her too. You sure she is a HST? I didn't get no vibe off her."

"Ain't that the point? They hide in plain sight. Besides, The General said she was. That's good enough for me."

"You sure though?"

"Dude, the brunette took one hell of a lot of juice for us to bring down. More than that Polgara. More than anything I seen."

"Well, what is she then?" Forest says. Forest, that's it, the smooth talker from the kegger Buffy dragged me kicking and screaming to the night I… the night Spike… shit, keep it together Lexi. Focus on getting some body part to move ASAP. Toe. Start with a toe.

Shit.

"Who cares what it is? It's just meat for the eggheads now. One less HST out there."

"Ah man. This sucks. She seemed real nice is all. Buffy said this girl saved her life once. Gave her mouth to mouth. Why would an HST do that? Does that make sense to you?"

Okay, toes are go. Pinky… good. Kneecap… can I get kneecap twitch? Okay that's go on the kneecap.

"Look Forest, if you have doubts on The General's direct orders, how about you take them up with The General himself."

"Nah, I'm good. It's… nothing. It's just… man, I tell you, I was right next to her at this party, we talked. She was funny. I had no idea."

"Oh Forest, no."

"What?"

"Seriously?"

"You had the hots for an HST? Oh wait until the guys… "

"Lock that shit down tight Cooper before I pull rank on your asses."

_Oh. OH. OW._ It's like when you wake up and you fell asleep on an arm, only all over. Pins and needles times Slayer senses. _Yee-frikkin-ouch to the power of yikes. _But my body is coming back to me. I grit my teeth and try not to cry out.

"Wait… did she just move?"

"Dude, I told you, we emptied like three shock charges a piece to get it to go down."

"Okay, well, we better juice her up again before…"

Look, call me fickle if you wish, but I personally? I _strongly_ react to the idea of being electrocuted again. So I politely decline. I politely decline hard enough to shrug off the guard on my left and ram the one to my right into the stone wall hard enough to feel the air rush out of him.

"Light it up." Says the one to the right. My booted foot says "shush now" and sends him spiralling down to the metal floor.

I flick my head back and take in the scene. We are in a block of cells, some six or so chambers deep. A few meters ahead, two stunned looking guards have an unconscious Willow between them, halfway into an open cell. Forest is to my right, dressed as they all are. And now it becomes so plainly obvious to me that the whole frat were soldiers. How did I miss it? Well, I didn't miss this time. I bring my cuffed hands together into one big fist and bring it down on the guard to my right's back. It's right out of Captain Kirk' play book, but it sure works a treat when you have Slayer strength and are real pissed.

Somebody has hit an alarm, and I know I don't have long, so I take a breath and assess. Two downed soldiers (yay me), three conscious soldiers, three shock guns, but most importantly, one vulnerable Willow. I hear a lot of boots clattering down the hall behind me, and make the plan in a heart beat.

I run at Forest, head down and slam him back into the cell glass behind him. The struggle is short, as I expect, as a moment later the first blast hits me. I don't feel the fist that follows, but I am pretty sure it sends me to the ground before the next blast sends me screaming back into the black.

* * *

I regain consciousness in what feels like seconds later, but I have no idea how much time has passed. I am cold, curled up in the fetal position in a featureless room. One wall is made of glass, and I don't need to touch it to know it is electrified, I can feel the static and hear the hum.

I am sure I don't look dignified, hair singed and wild, drool plastered to my cheeks. My cheek throbbing from what is no doubt a shiner. But I have my small victory, I feel the comforting stab of the key fob from Forest's belt tucked in my sleeve. Plan a sort of success. I would pat myself on the head if I wasn't basically a drooling girl shaped block of jello.

Soon enough Slayer healing works its mojo, and I find myself able to sit up and take in my surroundings in a little more detail. My cell has a camera with a little red light. As I shift side to side, it tracks me, moving with a little whir. The floor is rubbery and stinks of… something awful. The walls show scratch marks of something trying to claw its way out. I can't blame it for that, I can only wonder what happened to it that left this cell free. I shudder.

"Don't touch the glass." Comes a weak, croaky voice. The cell across from me is dark, a shaft of light comes from the vent in the roof. I see no occupant. But then I realise the voice came from the cell diagonally to my left. I can make out the silhouette of a young man, and as my eyes adjust I am horrified to realise who the pale, gaunt face belongs to.

"Oz?"


	53. Broken

Chapter 52

Broken

The wall nearest the glass is warmest, I guess because of whatever is keeping the glass electrified, and as we all talk I find myself pressed up against it to ward off the chill that is sinking in. I am hungry, and find myself in a strange space where I have been in so much pain of late that it feels absent. A perverse part of me needs to stroke the glass with the tip of my finger, just close enough to get the tak-tak sound and feel my muscles spasm.

Oz is pressed to the wall too, slumped over, his eyes sunken and distant. I curse myself every second we couldn't find him, for every moment I was so absorbed in my issues that I forgot he even existed. How am I The Chosen One? Regardless of what Giles said, could I ever truly take on the role of the hero? I glance around at my cell, and snort at the idea.

"You're one of them?" Oz says. I realise he means my clothes.

"No. We dressed like them to sneak in. Willow and I. To rescue you. Obviously, that went well."

"Do I know you?" He says. I glance back up at the camera that watches me, unsure of if they are recording sound, or what to reveal.

"I went to Sunnydale High." I settle on. "Remember Kendra and Faith?" Oz nods. "I am like them. You know. Like them."

"Oh" he says hesitantly, "so Buffy…"

"Can they hear us?

"I don't know."

"Oz, can you see Willow from where you are?"

"They took her." He says, slowly tilting his head to the side. "As soon as she woke up." I can hear the pain and guilt in his voice.

"Oz. Listen, she… she is a lot tougher than you think. She changed... she's..."

"I know what she is." He says, and though his expression change is subtle, I know Oz well enough to hear the bitterness and guilt. I begin to say that it wasn't his fault, that he shouldn't blame himself for what happened, but the sentence dies on my lips after "Oz…". I realise I have no right to tell him how to feel, or who to blame. I have my own blame to shoulder, and now, my own duty. "Where did they take her?"

"The pit. It's where they experiment on us." He says, drawing in a long breath and tipping his head back to press against the wall, he all but disappears from my view. I see his trembling hand form a tight fist.

"Oz. Listen. I can't explain right now, because they may be listening, but don't give up hope. There are a lot of people who love you out there. And we are not done yet. And… I know it sounds strange, that you can't recognise me… but we are friends. Were. And I ruined it. And I owe you. I owe you a lot, man. And I plan to make it right."

But there is no sound from the cell. I lean back with a deep sigh. As I move, I hear the whirr of the camera as it follows me. I look up and stare right at it.

"So… I notice there is no toilet. Major design flaw if you ask me. Do… I like… allocate a corner or something? Can I get some privacy? Dude?" There is no response, just the red light stabbing out of the darkness like a little unblinking demonic eye. "Well, okay then, Mr. likes to watch. I hope your little soldier frat boys have a mop handy."

I stand, and walk over to the farthest corner from the glass. Squat down, and brace my back against the wall. I have to be quick. I have to get this right, no missing. Oh, wait, context… it's not what you think.

You see, whilst I was talking to Oz, I was working through the keys on the fob, one by one testing them on the handcuffs until I got a little bitty click.

And now, squatting over and talking at the camera as a distraction I snap the widest key off the ring.

I place the metal against my palm to spread the force, then against that I take the rest of the keys and bunch them between my fingers. The longest key is in the middle, braced by the others. Elbows locked in tight.

"Just breathe, Lexi. Focus." I say.

Coiled as tight as I can, I reach down deep into the well inside me. Beg every muscle to connect to whatever it is that is The Slayer. I try to think of nothing, just my breath. And when that doesn't work, I think of Oz's tortured face. And Buffy, cradling Willow in a pool of blood. And my father raising his fist to me… telling me how useless a son I was… and… I… I...

The movement travels through me in slow motion, rage turned into action. I feel the pool of energy ignite inside me and for a moment I am brilliant with it. I smash my body into the glass, focusing all my weight to the single point of the key.

The shock blast hits my heightened nerves a moment later, throwing me like a rag doll back against the wall. The pain is worse than I imagined, but not enough to stop me. I stand, so help me, and am rewarded by the sight of a small crack in the glass, a shimmering spiderweb the size of my hand.

The second strike isn't enough, but the third? The third summons a storm of glass raindrops to go with all the lightning. And the next thing I know I am standing in the corridor, triumphant and bloody from a thousand small cuts, a primal snarl on my lips.

An alarm sounds and the corridor is bathed in red light.

"Finally, I caught a break." I say to myself as I limp over to Oz's cell. But there are no controls, no switches, no key holes. "Or… not." Oz is staring at me in confusion, huddled in a corner. "Sit tight Oz, and be ready, I will find the controls."

"Listen, there is a lot of things trapped here. Horrible things, if you can't open specific cells, just get Willow and get out, okay?"

"Oz.. I…"

"Promise me."

I nod, sobered at the thought. He is right. I remember back when Giles said supernatural activity in sunnydale had been at an all time low, so low that Buffy had been able to concentrate on college. At the time, I considered it a win. But, of course, it had just been The initiative capturing subjects. And right now, I had a years worth of 'monster of the week'trapped in here with me. Even now I can hear the rising din of them crying out, as news of me breaking my cell must be spreading. If I wasn't already maxing out on terrified, this would have done the trick alright.

"I'll be back." I say, but not at all like Arnie. "I will, Oz, I promise."

I leave him and plunge on into the darkened corridors. I have no idea which direction to go, but I stagger on anyway. Sooner or later the Initiative soldiers will find me, and that's fine. Because I swear, I am going to take each and every one of them down.

This whole place has to pay.


	54. I Don't Dream Of Jeannie

Chapter 53

I Don't Dream of Jeannie

Memory and reality phase and shift into a disconcerting alignment as I stalk through the halls of my dreams. It is surreal, to be walking in reality step by step through a memory. I feel like a boat sending out ripples in my wake, but in reverse, the ripples instead closing in on me, drawing me forward.

A man's voice comes across the speakers, both distant and present, echoing down the halls and back.

"Code C. All units to containment positions." It says twice, and then, in a way that is strangely familiar, the voice says "make me proud of you."

Containment positions. Does that mean take me down or take me out? If the roles were reversed, if I was the soldier facing… whatever it is they think I am… a creature strong enough to break their security glass and absorb their shock weapons? Well, I would seal the exits and set a trap too, but my choice of armaments would be more of the bullet-y, grenade-y type. I can't help it, but I think of Buffy's riddled, broken body. Slayers were not created in a time when high velocity rounds were an issue. And here is me, new to the job, untrained, exhausted and alone against what could be a small army.

Still, as much as the halls are causing me deja vu, that voice is too. I know that voice. I remember moving through halls not dissimilar to this once… or was that a dream too? Or a memory of a dream? Or strange feedback from my new gift?

It feels somehow important, just lurking in the unformed peripheral of my mind's eye. That voice, these halls… looking for Willow.

I have to stop and take a deep, steadying breath, grip my fists tight, shake them loose. A memory of a taste… bitter, acrid… choking… poisonous. Then a door crumpling, and…

A snarl brings me back to attention, and I press myself against the cool damp stone to peek around the corner of the juncture. The corridor beyond is lined with cells on my right side, the exposed rock face on the left is strung about with bundles of cables as thick as my arm. No guards. I edge around, fists raised. The first cell contains a vampire, an emaciated male with white skin and short cropped hair, shirtless, his tattered burial suit trousers his only clothing remaining. His face is withered and gaunt, the yellow eyes sunken deep, like the grooves on his ribs. Seeing me, he slumps forward, pounding on the electrified glass, the desiccated flesh burning blue like paper. Little remains of his fingers.

I tear my gaze down to a pile of blood packets on the floor, hospital standard, all untouched. The vampire steps back, eyes locked on my throat, mouth drooling thick viscous grey liquid like syrup.

I have never felt sorry for a vampire before. Since Jesse crumbled onto me the night of The Harvest. No remorse, nothing but hatred. I never felt for tortured Angel, or Spike when the love of his long unlife left him. Not even vampire Willow, stranded in another universe away from… and still processing this… alterna vamp Xander me.

No, I have never felt sorry for a vampire. Not a pinch. But the sickening sight of a starved vampire? Maybe. Maybe it was my revulsion at the cruelty of those who could do this… all of this… that sat heavy on my scales. Either way, I made no mistake about what I would do if that barrier had not been there, for I would offer it the only kindness I could give a vampire. If I had a stake.

I step away from the glass, and force myself to keep walking, keep following the path in my dream. In the next cell contains another vampire, equally emaciated despite the packets of blood piled in the middle of the room. It is so hunched over and twisted it barely resembles a human. Its gender is hard to tell, the hair stripped away, sleeves ripped, the pallid arms punchered over and over with bites like track marks. God, it is eating itself, rather than drinking the blood.

As I warily stride on, the scenes revealed in each cell grow more and more disturbing. The demons and vampires all appear sliced open, that 'T' shape you see from autopsies, (I have broken into the morgue more times than I care to count) but these… these... monsters are very much awake, aware- their tormented forms stitched and stapled together.

By the eighth cell, the experiments have grown more and more insane. I see body parts grafted together from a dozen demons, humans… oh god, they look in agony.

By the tenth cell I notice the thing inside still, silent. And the next, and the next; these, I can tell are, mercifully, dead. I stop sharply at the last cell in the row and my breath hitches. Inside, slumped against the far wall is the body of a woman. Well, the predominant parts are, at least, for her limbs are blue and spiked claws, threaded with silvery cables. The ribs are of something yellow green, not human at all, the chest cavity open as the demonic tissue is slowly breaking down into green goo, revealing layers of circuits.

I have to remind myself to breathe, have to force my eyes to blink. The face that stares blankly up at the ceiling is one I recognise. Light brown skin, tight black curls and eyes I saw only briefly when she took off her shades to talk softly to me.

"Agent Clacy." I whisper.

A movement draws my eyes up to see the cell's camera light flicker on and turn to look directly at me. I curse under my breath and back away from the door. The camera.

I step away, and notice another red light flicker on in the previous cell, and the next. All three slowly turn to track me as I edge away.

Many eyes. I shudder at the vision in my dream. Literal or metaphorical, it made me shiver.

I raise an arm quickly, wincing slightly as the cuts on my flesh rub against the fabric. One of the three cameras shift slowly to follow it. Not motion automated. I throw up another arm, and another slowly moves to track it. Slowly. The servomotors are slow.

I smile and flip the bird with both fingers and quickly exit, stage right even. By the time they track to my position I am already wedged in fissure like stone ceiling, amongst the cables and pipes, my back braced against the wall, feet pressing against the sides.

Because I realise Slayer dreams often require translating. And I think I am starting to speak a little.


	55. A Tight Spot

Chapter 54

A Tight Spot

My bloodied fingers sweep across damp, dirty stone as I search out my next hand hold. The complex, it turns out, is made up of a series of prefabricated rooms, stacked three levels high. I know this, because I managed to squeeze my ridiculously vertically challenged body into the gap, and I hafta say, crawling through a space barely wide enough to fit my ribcage has to be one of the most panic inducing thing next to that goddamn clown I had during my sixth birthday.

So yeah, I can confirm from traumatic personal experience that the whole place is only three levels deep, resting inside, from what I can make out in the dim light with my Slayer vision, a fissure not dissimilar to the one that swallowed the Master's church. And with that comes a'flooding back the wonderful memory of finding Buffy drowned.

This feels like the roles have been flipped, and it is me risking my life to save the world. Only… Only, I don't have a Xander coming to my rescue. In Willow's haste to get to Oz, I realise that the only one who knows where we are is Spike.

Crap.

Uhg, whatever this black, oily stuff is coating the walls (personally, I suspect some demonic bat shit) it is making climbing impossible. Besides, it looks to me like the fissure slants back at a sharp angle above me… even if I could hold on long enough to climb, there is no guarantee there is an exit up there. Infact, It's highly unlikely… I am sure holes into gigantic caverns is pretty high on the list of University Health and Safety department's "must fix before frat boys discover" list.

Nobody is coming to save Willow and Oz, except me. Little me. Exhausted, bloody, inexperienced, evil-guano covered, scrappy little me.

I give up on the climb, and drop back to the roof of the prefabricated rooftop as quietly as I can. My ankle turns on the greasy, potentially bat shit slick

cables, and with a double hop on my good foot, I manage to land softly amongst the tin foil air conditioning pipes and wire bundles.

I have some pretty good cuss words lined up, lemme tell you buster… grade A expletives... but I also have the sense to keep my lip sealed with a firm bite. If I were they, and my target had disappeared off the surveillance system, I would be sweeping the halls in teams. Though they wouldn't be able to squeeze through the gaps I can to get into this crawl space… bullets sure could.

I lay back amongst the filthy cables, clutching my throbbing ankle and turn my eyes up at the dark void above me. The void stares back, disapprovingly.

I hear ya dude.

What am I gonna do? Willow is somewhere down there, with a whole mess of army boys armed with high tech weapons that really, really sting, and if I don't act soon, she and Oz could end up Frankenfodder. I need to think.

And needing to think? Not exactly my strength. Okay, Lexi. Remember your training. Keep it simple. Master one dish. Breathe. Breathe.

Okay, I am a Slayer now. Cool. One up for me. I got that.

Slayer healing? Not doing great but I should look like hamburger after going through that armoured glass, so yay me. This ankle will be fine in a few minutes… so I got that firmly in my plus column.

Negatives? Not trained. Well, as a Slayer. As a soldier I am chock of train-y goodness. I mean, I make a damn good Martini and can talk a drunk woo girl down from ordering a row of shots like a champ... but right now I suspect the soldier thing is the skill set I need. Okay, so that's a plus.

But what else am I? What else have I got to offer. I was always support guy… distract the big bad… scream for help guy… breath of life and stitch up the slayer at O'God O'Clock guy.

I just pour the drinks. My idea of fun is home improvement on a shitty rent controlled apartment. That's not exactly helpful. Hey evil military lab, I fixed your aircon and rewired your...

My fingers trace over the bundle of cables beneath me. Cables. Wires. Cameras.

Oh.

Actually… OH!

Lexi Hart, you might just make it out of here after all.

* * *

You gotta love good old fashioned Military grade idiot proofing. From the folks that brought us 'Front towards enemy' on Claymore mines comes:

"Surveillance Camera Relay Hub" I smile as I wipe away the grime from label.

"Okay, Mr. Likes to Watch. Here's mud in your eye."

I imagine a hundred little red eyes going dim all over the base as I tear out the cables with impossibly strong fingers. And so nobody can repair it, I boot the socket section so hard it folds the steel casing around it. Yes, sir… reporting this junction box good old fashioned Military grade FUBAR.

Maybe it's my imagination too, but I can feel the sudden change in the atmosphere. Like a buzzing like distant bees as urgent messages are interchanged. They know they are blind now. They know bad things are about to go down.

I gotta move quick. My position should be obvious to them if they consult a schematic. I gotta take this advantage.

I crawl on through the darkness.

* * *

"Here piggy, piggy" the soldier says to himself from three feet directly below me. I hear the buzz of webbing against his gun strap. He isn't alone, I think I can hear three sets of boots, but it is hard over the hammering sound from my rib cage.

"Where the hell is it?" Another voice comes, low, raspy. Through the headset I hear a burst of static and a tinny voice.

"Squad 3 sound off."

"Still nothing." The soldier below me says, one hand to his ear. "You sure the perimeter is sealed as good as you say?"

"Focus on your own orders." Comes the voice, which I suspect is Riley Finn. "Once you are done, sweep it again. Leave no stone unturned."

"Sir, with respect, shouldn't we fall back to defend 314."

"You have your orders." The line cuts out.

"Dick." Mutters the soldier. "He's doing this to us on purpose. How can we show The General how deeply we love him if Finn hogs all the limelight?" Okaaay, that wasn't in my training.

"Ain't right." Another voice says. I flinch as a teeth shaking bang travels through me, and for a moment I fear I have been shot… but a series of lesser bangs and clatters follows, and I realise it's one of the soldiers rifling through a steel locker or something. "Ain't right at all. I mean… I love the General. So much, man."

"Me too. Man, He is the way." Says the third voice. "But what the hell are you doing?"

"Vents."

"What?"

"Air vents. Like in the movies. I think that bitch HST has to have gotten into the vents."

"Dude, the air vents here are half a foot wide, ain't no way anyone can get through them."

"Anyone. But what about any thing."

"Yo, he's right man. What kind of powers do these Slayer things have? Like… you ever see that X-files with the dude who can… like squeeze through a toilet?"

"Can it. Both of you. We finish the sweep, and fall back to 314."

"But Finn said…"

"Screw Finn. My love for The General is greater and purer than his. We should be protecting The General. He is the way."

"Fucking A man." Says the second. "Fuck-in-A."

I let out my breath as I hear them moving away, but I gasp again when I process what they where saying. Somehow, they know I am a Slayer. Which opens up a whole can of worms about how they know, and what they plan to do about it.

But one ray of light? The jugheads gave me 314. Level three, room fourteen. So that's the other side of the complex. And all that loving The General stuff? Stinks of major wiggins, and I feel that pinch of deja vu I cannot pin down.

If I get to this general, I could have a barter chip. That's the way. And wouldn't you know? The camera cables also lead thattaway.

* * *

The passage I have to pass through is ridiculously tight, so tight I have to empty my lungs to crawl in. I panic and pull back.

Crap. It's so tight, I just… I hafta breathe all the way out and hold it if I am gonna make it through… and it's like… six to eight feet.

I think I can make it… but praying to whoever or whatever is up there that I don't get stuck or have a panic attack… oh crapohcrapohcrap.

I hate this. I hate this so much. Move the fuck over Clown, I am putting claustrophobia firmly in your place as my number two phobia. Willow made me watch a documentary once, it was by that French deep sea guy… I wanna say Clouseau but no, That's Pink Panther. Anyway, I know you don't take one deep breath… you take a row of quick tiny breaths to oxygenate your blood and then you try to relax. But as I start to huff the oily, sour air, I feel a metallic clunk vibrate through the floor beneath me. I hold my breath. Shit.

"Team delta, reporting in."

"Go ahead." This voice is Riley Finn for sure, no more than six feet below me. My body comes over in goosebumps as my senses register those beneath me. Shifts in the air, breathing, the faint rustle of straps, the click of metal on metal. Troops. Lots of troops, I can feel their impatience, their tension. This must be the place.

This must be 314.

I look over at the gap through which I have to crawl. The thin metal floor, slick with oily black soot, the painfully low roof. It's gonna pass directly over them.

Which means I have to go slow, else I alert them.

Me? Afraid of clowns? Glaring at what I must do, I don't even remember what one looks like right now.


	56. With The Fishes

Chapter 55

With The Fishes

I am on a beach. A nice sunny beach, somewhere in Europe… the kind of Europe you see on travel shows with the clear azure water and rockpools and the snorkelling. I am, and I want to make it absolutely clear, I am not stuck in a filthy dark metal crawlspace, my lungs unable to inflate. No. No, I am snorkelling amongst the fishies, calm, calm little happy fishes. I just need to relax… relax and let the tide lap against my utterly relaxed, extremely thin, small body. Soft, suntanned, calm as Buddha.

"You hear somethin'?" A fish says, yes, a fish… a relaxing, adorable Disneyesque fish… not a gun toting killer beneath me in this impossibly tight… a fish. See? Happy fish. Relax.

"No."

"I swear… "

"Not saying you didn't soldier, I am saying I didn't. What did you hear."

"Came from up…"... above the gentle rockpool, the soft clouds. Yes, the soft, fuffy clouds and the sun shining down on me as I… relax… gotta relax. I gain an inch, and then another. Gonna keep… no… no need to panic. I am not drowning. I am not...

"Anders… Anything above our position? Like vents or a pathway." Silence. "Anders?".

My lungs are starting to scream at me. My head is growing light. I can hear a whistling sound in my ears.

"Sorry Sir" came a woman's voice across the static, she clears her throat "thought I heard something. Repeat the question."

I am going to die here. Trapped… trapped in a dark space, face twisted and blue.

"Any vents or anything above our position? Anyway the hostile can get through."

Gotta relax. Gotta force my ribs down tight. I can't I can't I can't Disney Fish… azure water… air… air… air… please god, not like this.

"Anders? Do you read me?"

"Yeah. Yes, I read you. You're coming through, five by five." My throat catches and I sputter in pain as my ribs expand, but I know that voice. I know that voice! "No. Nothin' above your position... sir."

She is here. Faith is here. Somehow, they have found us. I am not alone. And I feel like I am melting. And yeah, the whistle in my ears is a pitch above agonizing, and yeah, I am moments from greying out, but my eyes are slick with tears and I almost laugh out the air inside me. I push forward, the collar of my clothing gripping painfully at my throat as I slide forward, but I keep on, I push on. Faith is here, and I…

My fingers find the lip of the metal H beam and I seize hold, pulling myself forward, feeling something crack somewhere inside my ribs as I drag my trunk free, and oh… the breath that fills me is the sweetest, most glorious breath I have ever taken.

I slide out, dropping down to the floor and gasping as quietly as I can. My ribs complain as I do, but nothing they could say could stop me from taking in that sweet, sweet dusty, bat shit scented air... and... and... sweeter still is the knowledge that I am no longer alone. Faith is coming to save me, and I chuckle a painful chuckle silently to myself. Abigail Lehane's middle name should have been 'hope'.

That's when the roofing material beneath me collapses, of course.

I land hard, briefly registering a table at my back before it gives way and sends me rolling backwards in a cloud of plasterboard dust and guano. But to my surprise, in an almost instinctive move, I have roll to my feet, one palm down, the other quickly balled up ready to fight. Movement erupts to my left, and I turn to see a double doorway, all thick safety glass and thick metal reminiscent of an airlock in some science fiction feature. Through the glass, there must be a dozen Initiative soldiers, all scrambling to attention. Riley Finn is closest, a look of horror on his face that turns to rage as he looks at me. My heart hammers adrenaline through my veins and suddenly I am in that zone again… everything begins to slow, I see guns being raised and Finn reaching for a switch. A click-hiss as a mechanism starts to slide back and… I close the distance and catch the pistons as they pull the heavy bolts down.

Rileys surprised face mirrors my own reflection in the glass as the door creaks but does not open. The resistance from the bolts gives after a few seconds, hissing and clicking back into place. Riley tries again. And again. But somehow I have managed to bend the hydrologic to the point the door won't activate. I let go with my hands and give the soldier a smarmy little shrug. He is shouting something.

"I'm sorry dude, I can't hear you over how awesome I am." I say, tapping the shell of my ear. He begins barking order to his troops.

Stepping back, I take in the scene around me. The room is dark, some fifty feet wide, the walls clad with clear plastic drapes hemmed in white, through which I can see the blinking lights of racks and racks of computers. Above me a mass of cables and wires thread through a metal grid, the glossy black plastic catching the dim green light gives them all a snake like, seething feeling that sets my nerves on edge. The room was sectioned off with translucent plastic walls, which now hang unzipped, blowing in the breeze of the ceiling ducts. Beyond that? I can't tell, but I know I have to find out. I have to press on. I have to take The General.

Taking one glance back at the door, I am satisfied it will hold for a little while. I give Riley a little wave, but… yunno… not with all my fingers, and cautiously, ever so cautiously advance into room 314.


End file.
